'• 


STORIES  BY  FOREIGN  AUTHORS 
4 

FRENCH 
II 


STORIES  BY 
FOREIGN  AUTHORS 


THE  SUBSTITUTE BY  FRANCOIS  Corrtx 

THE  ATTACK  ON  T!  •  ...  BY  EMILK  ZOLA 

THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD--  ...  BY  EMILB  SOUVBSTRB 

THE  SEMPSTR'  ...  BY  GUSTAVB  J>- 

THE  VENUS  OF  ILLB BY  PROSFKR  M 


NEW  YORK 

CH;  >NS 


FRAN£OIS  COPPEE 


STORIES  BY 
FOREIGN  AUTHORS 


FRENCH 


THE  SUBSTITUTE BY  FRANCOIS  Coppihs 

THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL     .    .    .  Bv  EMILB  ZOLA 

THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD    ....  BY  EMILB  SOUVBSTRB 

THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY      ....  BY  GUSTAVB  DROZ 

THE  VENUS  OF  ILLE , BY  PROSPER  M^RIM^B 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1901 


Copyright,  1898,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


THE  CAXTON  PRESS 
NEW  YORK. 


PUBLISHERS'  NOTE 

The  translations  in  this  volume,  where  pre- 
viously published,  are  used  by  arrangement 
with  the  owners  of  the  copyrights  (as  specified 
at  the  beginning  of  each  story).  Translations 
made  especially  for  the  series  are  covered  by 
its  general  copyright.  All  rights  in  both  classes 
are  reserved. 


412; 


CONTENTS 

PACK 

THE  SUBSTITUTE , Frangois  Copp^e...    n 

THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL Emile  Zola 31 

THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. Emile  Souvestre...    85 

THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY Gustave  Droz 131 

THE  VENUS  OF  ILLE Prosper  M6rim£e  147 


THE  SUBSTITUTE 

BY 

FRANCOIS  COPPE'E 


From  "  Ten  Tales  by  Francois  Coppee. "    Translated  by 
Walter  Learned.    Published  by  Harper  &  Bros. 


Copyright,  1890,  by  Harder  &  Bros. 


THE  SUBSTITUTE 

BY  FRANCOIS   COPP^E 

HE  was  scarcely  ten  years  old  when  he  was 
first  arrested  as  a  vagabond. 

He  spoke  thus  to  the  judge : 

"  I  am  called  Jean  Fran£ois  Leturc,  and  for 
six  months  I  was  with  the  man  who  sings  and 
plays  upon  a  cord  of  catgut  between  the  lanterns 
at  the  Place  de  la  Bastille.  I  sang  the  refrain 
with  him,  and  after  that  I  called,  *  Here's  all  the 
new  songs,  ten  centimes,  two  sous  1  *  He  was 
always  drunk,  and  used  to  beat  me.  That  is 
why  the  police  picked  me  up  the  other  night. 
Before  that  I  was  with  the  man  who  sells  brushes. 
My  mother  was  a  laundress,  her  name  was  Adele. 
At  one  time  she  lived  with  a  man  on  the  ground- 
floor  at  Montmartre.  She  was  a  good  work- 
woman and  liked  me.  She  made  money  be- 
cause she  had  for  customers  waiters  in  the 
cafe's,  and  they  use  a  good  deal  of  linen.  On 
Sundays  she  used  to  put  me  to  bed  early  so  that 
she  could  go  to  the  ball.  On  week-days  she  sent 
me  to  Les  Freres,  where  I  learned  to  read. 

13 


UBSTITUTE. 

Well,  the  sergent-de-ville  whose  beat  was  in  our 
street  used  always  to  stop  before  our  windows  to 
talk  with  her — a  good-looking  chap,  with  a  medal 
from  the  Crimea.  They  were  married,  and  after 
that  everything  went  wrong.  He  did  n't  take  to 
me,  and  turned  mother  against  me.  Every  one  had 
a  blow  for  me,  and  so,  to  get  out  of  the  house,  I 
spent  whole  days  in  the  Place  Clichy,  where  I 
knew  the  mountebanks.  My  father-in-law  lost 
his  place,  and  my  mother  her  work.  She  used 
to  go  out  washing  to  take  care  of  him  ;  this  gave 
her  a  cough — the  steam.  .  .  .  She  is  dead  at 
Lamboisiere.  She  was  a  good  woman.  Since 
that  I  have  lived  with  the  seller  of  brushes  and 
the  catgut  scraper.  Are  you  going  to  send  me 
to  prison  ? " 

He  said  this  openly,  cynically,  like  a  man.  He 
was  a  little  ragged  street-arab,  as  tall  as  a  boot, 
his  forehead  hidden  under  a  queer  mop  of  yel- 
low hair. 

Nobody  claimed  him,  and  they  sent  him  to  the 
Reform  School. 

Not  very  intelligent,  idle,  clumsy  with  his 
hands,  the  only  trade  he  could  learn  there  was 
not  a  good  one — that  of  reseating  straw  chairs. 
However,  he  was  obedient,  naturally  quiet  and 
silent,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  be  profoundly  cor- 
rupted by  that  school  of  vice.  But  when,  in  his 
seventeenth  year,  he  was  thrown  out  again  on  the 
streets  of  Paris,  he  unhappily  found  there  his  pris- 


THE    SUBSTITUTE.  15 

on  comrades,  all  great  scamps,  exercising  their 
dirty  professions  :  teaching  dogs  to  catch  rats  in 
the  sewers,  and  blacking  shoes  on  ball  nights  in 
the  passage  of  the  Opera — amateur  wrestlers,  who 
permitted  themselves  to  be  thrown  by  the  Her- 
cules of  the  booths — or  fishing  at  noontime  from 
rafts;  all  of  these  occupations  he  followed  to 
some  extent,  and,  some  months  after  he  came  out 
of  the  house  of  correction,  he  was  arrested  again 
for,  a  petty  theft — a  pair  of  old  shoes  prigged 
from  a  shop-window.  Result :  a  year  in  the  pris- 
on of  Sainte  Pe'lagie,  where  he  served  as  valet 
to  the  political  prisoners. 

He  lived  in  much  surprise  among  this  group 
of  prisoners,  all  very  young,  negligent  in  dress, 
who  talked  in  loud  voices,  and  carried  their  heads 
in  a  very  solemn  fashion.  They  used  to  meet  in 
the  cell  of  one  of  the  oldest  of  them,  a  fellow  of 
some  thirty  years,  already  a  long  time  in  prison 
and  quite  a  fixture  at  Sainte  Pe'lagie — a  large 
cell,  the  walls  covered  with  colored  caricatures, 
and  from  the  window  of  which  one  could  see  all 
Paris — its  roofs,  its  spires,  and  its  domes — and 
far  away  the  distant  line  of  hills,  blue  and  indis- 
tinct upon  the  sky.  There  were  upon  the  walls 
some  shelves  filled  with  volumes  and  all  the  old 
paraphernalia  of  a  fencing-room  :  broken  masks, 
rusty  foils,  breastplates,  and  gloves  that  were 
losing  their  tow.  It  was  there  that  the  "  poli- 
ticians "  used  to  dine  together,  adding  to  the 


1 6  THE   SUBSTITUTE. 

everlasting  "  soup  and  beef,"  fruit,  cheese,  and 
pints  of  wine  which  Jean  Frangois  went  out  and 
got  by  the  can — a  tumultuous  repast  interrupted 
by  violent  disputes,  and  where,  during  the  des- 
sert, the  "  Carmagnole  "  and  "  Qa  Ira  "  were 
sung  in  full  chorus.  They  assumed,  however,  an 
air  of  great  dignity  on  those  days  when  a  new- 
comer was  brought  in  among  them,  at  first  enter- 
taining him  gravely  as  a  citizen,  but  on  the  mor- 
row using  him  with  affectionate  familiarity  and 
calling  him  by  his  nickname.  Great  words  were 
used  there:  Corporation,  Responsibility,  and 
phrases  quite  unintelligible  to  Jean  Frangois — 
such  as  this,  for  example,  which  he  once  heard 
imperiously  put  forth  by  a  frightful  little  hunch- 
back who  blotted  some  writing-paper  every  night : 

"  It  is  done.  This  is  the  composition  of  the 
Cabinet :  Raymond,  the  Bureau  of  Public  In- 
struction ;  Martial,  the  Interior  ;  and  for  Foreign 
Affairs,  myself." 

His  time  done,  he  wandered  again  around 
Paris,  watched  afar  by  the  police,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  cockchafers,  made  by  cruel  children  to  fly 
at  the  end  of  a  string.  He  became  one  of  those 
fugitive  and  timid  beings  whom  the  law,  with  a 
sort  of  coquetry,  arrests  and  releases  by  turn — 
something  like  those  platonic  fishers  who,  in  order 
that  they  may  not  exhaust  their  fish-pond,  throw 
immediately  back  into  the  water  the  fish  which 
has  just  come  out  of  the  net.  Without  a  suspicion 


THE    SUBSTITUTE.  17 

on  his  part  that  so  much  honor  had  been  done  to 
so  sorry  a  subject,  he  had  a  special  bundle  of 
memoranda  in  the  mysterious  portfolios  of  the 
Rue  de  Jerusalem.  His  name  was  written  in 
round  hand  on  the  gray  paper  of  the  cover,  and 
the  notes  and  reports,  carefully  classified,  gave 
him  his  successive  appellations :  "  Name,  Le- 
turc ;  "  "  the  prisoner  Leturc,"  and,  at  last,  "  the 
criminal  Leturc." 

He  was  two  years  out  of  prison,  dining  where 
he  could,  sleeping  in  night  lodging-houses  and 
sometimes  in  lime-kilns,  and  taking  part  with  his 
fellows  in  interminable  games  of  pitch-penny  on 
the  boulevards  near  the  barriers.  He  wore  a 
greasy  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  carpet  slip- 
pers, and  a  short  white  blouse.  When  he  had 
five  sous  he  had  his  hair  curled.  He  danced  at 
Constant's  at  Montparnasse ;  bought  for  two 
sous  to  sell  for  four  at  the  door  of  Bobino,  the 
jack  of  hearts  or  the  ace  of  clubs  serving  as  a 
countermark ;  sometimes  opened  the  door  of  a 
carriage  ;  led  horses  to  the  horse-market.  From 
the  lottery  of  all  sorts  of  miserable  employments 
he  drew  a  goodly  number.  Who  can  say  if  the 
atmosphere  of  honor  which  one  breathes  as  a 
soldier,  if  military  discipline  might  not  have 
saved  him  ?  Taken,  in  a  cast  of  the  net,  with 
some  young  loafers  who  robbed  drunkards  sleep- 
ing on  the  streets,  he  denied  very  earnestly  hav- 
ing taken  part  in  their  expeditions.  Perhaps  he 

2 


1 8  .TOE   SUBSTITUTE. 

told  the  truth,  but  his  antecedents  were  accepted 
in  lieu  of  proof,  and  he  was  sent  for  three  years 
to  Poissy.  There  he  made  coarse  playthings  for 
children,  was  tattooed  on  the  chest,  learned 
thieves'  slang  and  the  penal  code.  A  new  libera- 
tion, and  a  new  plunge  into  the  sink  of  Paris  ; 
but  very  short  this  time,  for  at  the  end  of  six 
months  at  the  most  he  was  again  compromised 
in  a  night  robbery,  aggravated  by  climbing  and 
breaking — a  serious  affair,  in  which  he  played  an 
obscure  role,  half  dupe  and  half  fence.  On  the 
whole  his  complicity  was  evident,  and  he  was 
sent  for  five  years  at  hard  labor.  His  grief  in 
this  adventure  was  above  all  in  being  separated 
from  an  old  dog  which  he  had  found  on  a  dung- 
heap,  and  cured  of  the  mange.  The  beast  loved 
him. 

Toulon,  the  ball  and  chain,  the  work  in  the 
harbor,  the  blows  from  a  stick,  wooden  shoes  on 
bare  feet,  soup  of  black  beans  dating  from 
Trafalgar,  no  tobacco  money,  and  the  terrible 
sleep  in  a  camp  swarming  with  convicts ;  that 
was  what  he  experienced  for  five  broiling  sum- 
mers and  five  winters  raw  with  the  Mediterranean 
wind.  He  came  out  from  there  stunned,  was 
sent  under  surveillance  to  Vernon,  where  he 
worked  some  time  on  the  river.  Then,  an  incor- 
rigible vagabond,  he  broke  his  exile  and  came 
again  to  Paris.  He  had  his  savings,  fifty-six 
francs,  that  is  to  say,  time  enough  for  reflection. 


THE   SUBSTITUTE.  19 

During  his  absence  his  former  wretched  compan- 
ions had  dispersed.  He  was  well  hidden,  and 
slept  in  a  loft  at  an  old  woman's,  to  whom  he  rep- 
resented himself  as  a  sailor,  tired  of  the  sea, 
who  had  lost  his  papers  in  a  recent  shipwreck, 
and  who  wanted  to  try  his  hand  at  something 
else.  His  tanned  face  and  his  calloused  hands, 
together  with  some  sea  phrases  which  he  dropped 
from  time  to  time,  made  his  tale  seem  probable 
enough. 

One  day  when  he  risked  a  saunter  in  the 
streets,  and  when  chance  had  led  him  as  far  as 
Montmartre,  where  he  was  born,  an  unexpected 
memory  stopped  him  before  the  door  of  Les 
Freres,  where  he  had  learned  to  read.  As  it  was 
very  warm  the  door  was  open,  and  by  a  single 
glance  the  passing  outcast  was  able  to  recog- 
nize the  peaceable  school-room.  Nothing  was 
changed  :  neither  the  bright  light  shining  in  at  the 
great  windows,  nor  the  crucifix  over  the  desk,  nor 
the  rows  of  benches  with  the  tables  furnished 
with  inkstands  and  pencils,  nor  the  table  of 
weights  and  measures,  nor  the  map  where  pins 
stuck  in  still  indicated  the  operations  of  some 
ancient  war.  Heedlessly  and  without  thinking, 
Jean  Fran9ois  read  on  the  blackboard  the  words  of 
the  Evangelist  which  had  been  set  there  as  a  copy  : 

"  Joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that 
repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and  nine  just 
persons,  which  need  no  repentance." 


2O  THE   SUBSTITUTE. 

It  was  undoubtedly  the  hour  for  recreation,  for 
the  Brother  Professor  had  left  his  chair,  and,  sit- 
ting on  the  edge  of  a  table,  he  was  telling  a  story 
to  the  boys  who  surrounded  him  with  eager  and 
attentive  eyes.  What  a  bright  and  innocent  face 
he  had,  that  beardless  young  man,  in  his  long 
black  gown,  and  white  necktie,  and  great  ugly 
shoes,  and  his  badly  cut  brown  hair  streaming 
out  behind  !  All  the  simple  figures  of  the  chil- 
dren of  the  people  who  were  watching  him  seemed 
scarcely  less  childlike  than  his  ;  above  all  when, 
delighted  with  some  of  his  own  simple  and  priestly 
pleasantries,  he  broke  out  in  an  open  and  frank 
peal  of  laughter  which  showed  his  white  and  regu- 
lar teeth,  a  peal  so  contagious  that  all  the  scholars 
laughed  loudly  in  their  turn.  It  was  such  a  sweet, 
simple  group  in  the  bright  sunlight,  which  lighted 
their  dear  eyes  and  their  blond  curls. 

Jean  Fra^ois  looked  at  them  for  some  time  in 
silence,  and  for  the  first  time  in  that  savage 
nature,  all  instinct  and  appetite,  there  awoke  a 
mysterious,  a  tender  emotion.  His  heart,  that 
seared  and  hardened  heart,  unmoved  when  the 
convict's  cudgel  or  the  heavy  whip  of  the  watch- 
man fell  on  his  shoulders,  beat  oppressively.  In 
that  sight  he  saw  again  his  infancy ;  and  closing 
his  eyes  sadly,  the  prey  to  torturing  regret,  he 
walked  quickly  away. 

Then  the  words  written  on  the  blackboard 
came  back  to  his  mind. 


THE   SUBSTITUTE.  21 

"  If  it  was  n't  too  late,  after  all ! "  he  mur- 
mured ;  "  if  I  could  again,  like  others,  eat 
honestly  my  brown  bread,  and  sleep  my  fill  with- 
out nightmare  1  The  spy  must  be  sharp  who 
recognizes  me.  My  beard,  which  I  shaved  off 
down  there,  has  grown  out  thick  and  strong. 
One  can  burrow  somewhere  in  the  great  ant-hill, 
and  work  can  be  found.  Whoever  is  not  worked 
to  death  in  the  hell  of  the  galleys  comes  out  agile 
and  robust,  and  I  learned  there  to  climb  ropes 
with  loads  upon  my  back.  Building  is  going  on 
everywhere  here,  and  the  masons  need  helpers. 
Three  francs  a  day  !  I  never  earned  so  much. 
Let  me  be  forgotten,  and  that  is  all  I  ask." 

He  followed  his  courageous  resolution ;  he 
was  faithful  to  it,  and  after  three  months  he  was 
another  man.  The  master  for  whom  he  worked 
called  him  his  best  workman.  After  a  long  day 
upon  the  scaffolding,  in  the  hot  sun  and  the  dust, 
constantly  bending  and  raising  his  back  to  take 
the  hod  from  the  man  at  his  feet  and  pass  it  to 
the  man  over  his  head,  he  went  for  his  soup  to 
the  cook-shop,  tired  out,  his  legs  aching,  his 
hands  burning,  his  eyelids  stuck  with  plaster,  but 
content  with  himself,  and  carrying  his  well-earned 
money  in  a  knot  in  his  handkerchief.  He  went 
out  now  without  fear,  since  he  could  not  be  rec- 
ognized in  his  white  mask,  and  since  he  had 
noticed  that  the  suspicious  glances  of  the  police- 
man were  seldom  turned  on  the  tired  workman, 


22  THE    SUBSTITUTE. 

He  was  quiet  and  sober.  He  slept  the  sound 
sleep  of  fatigue.  He  was  free  ! 

At  last — oh,  supreme  recompense  ! — he  had 
a  friend  ! 

He  was  a  fellow- workman  like  himself, 
named  Savinien,  a  little  peasant  with  red  lips 
who  had  come  to  Paris  with  his  stick  over  his 
shoulder  and  a  bundle  on  the  end  of  it,  fleeing 
from  the  wine-shops  and  going  to  mass  every 
Sunday.  Jean  Fran£ois  loved  him  for  his  piety, 
for  his  candor,  for  his  honesty,  for  all  that  he 
himself  had  lost,  and  so  long  ago.  It  was  a  pas- 
sion, profound  and  unrestrained,  which  trans- 
formed him  by  fatherly  cares  and  attentions. 
Savinien,  himself  of  a  weak  and  egotistical  nature, 
let  things  take  their  course,  satisfied  only  in 
finding  a  companion  who  shared  his  horror  of  the 
wine-shop.  The  two  friends  lived  together  in  a 
fairly  comfortable  lodging,  but  their  resources 
were  very  limited.  They  were  obliged  to  take 
into  their  room  a  third  companion,  an  old  Auver- 
gnat,  gloomy  and  rapacious,  who  found  it  pos- 
sible out  of  his  meagre  salary  to  save  something 
with  which  to  buy  a  place  in  his  own  country. 
Jean  Francois  and  Savinien  were  always  together. 
On  holidays  they  together  took  long  walks  in  the 
environs  of  Paris,  and  dined  under  an  arbor  in 
one  of  those  small  country  inns  where  there  are  a 
great  many  mushrooms  in  the  sauces  and  inno- 
cent rebusses  on  the  napkins.  There  Jean  Fran- 


THE   SUBSTITUTE.  23 

gois  learned  from  his  friend  all  that  lore  of  which 
they  who  are  born  in  the  city  are  ignorant; 
learned  the  names  of  the  trees,  the  flowers,  and 
the  plants ;  the  various  seasons  for  harvesting  ; 
he  heard  eagerly  the  thousand  details  of  a  labo- 
rious country  life — the  autumn  sowing,  the  winter 
chores,  the  splendid  celebrations  of  harvest  and 
vintage  days,  the  sound  of  the  mills  at  the  water- 
side, and  the  flails  striking  the  ground,  the  tired 
horses  led  to  water,  and  the  hunting  in  the  morn- 
ing mist ;  and,  above  all,  the  long  evenings  around 
the  fire  of  vine-shoots,  that  were  shortened  by 
some  marvellous  stories.  He  discovered  in 
himself  a  source  of  imagination  before  unknown, 
and  found  a  singular  delight  in  the  recital  of 
events  so  placid,  so  calm,  so  monotonous. 

One  thing  troubled  him,  however  :  it  was  the 
fear  lest  Savinien  might  learn  something  of  his 
past.  Sometimes  there  escaped  from  him  some 
low  word  of  thieves'  slang,  a  vulgar  gesture — 
vestiges  of  his  former  horrible  existence — and  he 
felt  the  pain  one  feels  when  old  wounds  re-open  ; 
the  more  because  he  fancied  that  he  sometimes 
saw  in  Savinien  the  awakening  of  an  unhealthy 
curiosity.  When  the  young  man,  already  tempted 
by  the  pleasures  which  Paris  offers  to  the  poor- 
est, asked  him  about  the  mysteries  of  the  great 
city,  Jean  Francois  feigned  ignorance  and  turned 
the  subject ;  but  he  felt  a  vague  inquietude  for 
the  future  of  his  friend. 


24  THE   SUBSTITUTE. 

His  uneasiness  was  not  without  foundation. 
Savinien  could  not  long  remain  the  simple  rustic 
that  he  was  on  his  arrival  in  Paris.  If  the  gross 
and  noisy  pleasures  of  the  wine-shop  always 
repelled  him,  he  was  profoundly  troubled  by  other 
temptations,  full  of  danger  for  the  inexperience  of 
his  twenty  years.  When  spring  came  he  began 
to  go  off  alone,  and  at  first  he  wandered  about  the 
brilliant  entrance  of  some  dancing-hall,  watching 
the  young  girls  who  went  in  with  their  arms 
around  each  other's  waists,  talking  in  low  tones. 
Then,  one  evening,  when  lilacs  perfumed  the  air 
and  the  call  to  quadrilles  was  most  captivating, 
he  crossed  the  threshold,  and  from  that  time  Jean 
Francois  observed  a  change,  little  by  little,  in  his 
manners  and  his  visage.  He  became  more  friv- 
olous, more  extravagant.  He  often  borrowed 
from  his  friend  his  scanty  savings,  and  he  forgot 
to  repay.  Jean  Francois,  feeling  that  he  was 
abandoned,  jealous  and  forgiving  at  the  same 
time,  suffered  and  was  silent.  He  felt  that  he 
had  no  right  to  reproach  him,  but  with  the 
foresight  of  affection  he  indulged  in  cruel  and 
inevitable  presentiments. 

One  evening,  as  he  was  mounting  the  stairs  to 
his  room,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  he  heard, 
as  he  was  about  to  enter,  the  sound  of  angry 
voices,  and  he  recognized  that  of  the  old  Auver- 
gnat  who  lodged  with  Savinien  and  himself.  An 
old  habit  of  suspicion  made  him  stop  at  the 


THE    SUBSTITUTE.  25 

landing-place  and  listen  to  learn  the  cause  of  the 
trouble. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Auvergnat,  angrily,  "  I  am 
sure  that  some  one  has  opened  my  trunk  and 
stolen  from  it  the  three  louis  that  I  had  hidden 
in  a  little  box ;  and  he  who  has  done  this  thing 
must  be  one  of  the  two  companions  who  sleep 
here,  if  it  were  not  the  servant  Maria.  It  con- 
cerns you  as  much  as  it  does  me,  since  you  are 
the  master  of  the  house,  and  I  will  drag  you  to 
the  courts  if  you  do  not  let  me  at  once  break 
open  the  valises  of  the  two  masons.  My  poor 
gold  !  It  was  here  yesterday  in  its  place,  and  I 
will  tell  you  just  what  it  was,  so  that  if  we  find 
it  again  nobody  can  accuse  me  of  having  lied. 
Ah,  I  know  them,  my  three  beautiful  gold-pieces, 
and  I  can  see  them  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  !  One 
piece  was  more  worn  than  the  others ;  it  was  of 
greenish  gold,  with  a  portrait  of  the  great  emperor. 
The  other  was  a  great  old  fellow  with  a  queue 
and  epaulettes  ;  and  the  third,  which  had  on  it  a 
Philippe  with  whiskers,  I  had  marked  with  my 
teeth.  They  don't  trick  me.  Do  you  know  that 
I  only  wanted  two  more  like  that  to  pay  for  my 
vineyard  ?  Come,  search  these  fellows'  things 
with  me,  or  I  will  call  the  police  !  Hurry  up  !  " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  voice  of  the  landlord  ; 
"  we  will  go  and  search  with  Maria.  So  much 
the  worse  for  you  if  we  find  nothing,  and  the 
masons  get  angry.  You  have  forced  me  to  it." 


26  THE   SUBSTITUTE. 

Jean  Francois*  soul  was  full  of  fright.  He  re- 
membered the  embarrassed  circumstances  and 
the  small  loans  of  Savinien,  and  how  sober  he 
had  seemed  for  some  days.  And  yet  he  could 
not  believe  that  he  was  a  thief.  He  heard  the 
Auvergnat  panting  in  his  eager  search,  and  he 
pressed  his  closed  fists  against  his  breast  as  if  to 
still  the  furious  beating  of  his  heart. 

"  Here  they  are ! "  suddenly  shouted  the 
victorious  miser.  "  Here  they  are,  my  louis,  my 
dear  treasure  ;  and  in  the  Sunday  vest  of  that 
little  hypocrite  of  Limousin !  Look,  landlord, 
they  are  just  as  I  told  you.  Here  is  the  Napo- 
leon, the  man  with  a  queue,  and  the  Philippe  that 
I  have  bitten.  See  the  dents  !  Ah,  the  little 
beggar  with  the  sanctified  air.  I  should  have 
much  sooner  suspected  the  other.  Ah,  the  wretch  ! 
Well,  he  must  go  to  the  convict  prison." 

At  this  moment  Jean  Frangois  heard  the  well- 
known  step  of  Savinien  coming  slowly  up  the 
stairs. 

He  is  going  to  his  destruction,  thought  he. 
Three  stories.  I  have  time  ! 

And,  pushing  open  the  door,  he  entered  the 
room,  pale  as  death,  where  he  saw  the  landlord 
and  the  servant  stupefied  in  a  corner,  while  the 
Auvergnat,  on  his  knees,  in  the  disordered  heap 
of  clothes,  was  kissing  the  pieces  of  gold. 

"  Enough  of  this,"  he  said,  in  a  thick  voice  ; 
"  I  took  the  money,  and  put  it  in  my  comrade's 


THE    SUBSTITUTE*  21 

trunk.  But  that  is  too  bad.  I  am  a  thief,  but 
not  a  Judas.  Call  the  police ;  I  will  not  try  to 
escape,  only  I  must  say  a  word  to  Savinien  in 
private.  ^Here  he  is.'y 

/In  fac$  the  little  Limousin  had  just  arrived, 
and  seeing  his  crime  discovered,  believing  him- 
self lost,  he  stood  there,  his  eyes  fixed,  his  arms 
hanging. 

JJrean  Frangois  seized  him  forcibly  by  the  neck, 
as  if  to  embrace  him ;  he  put  his  mouth  close  to 
Savinien's  ear,  and  said  to  him  in  a  low,  sup- 
plicating voice : 

"  Keep  quiet." 

Thenjturning  towards  the  others  : 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  him.  Cl  tell  you  I  won't 
go  away.  Lock  us  in  if  you  wish,  but  leave  us 
alone." 

With  a  commanding  gesture  he  showed  them 
the  door. 

They  went  out. 

Savjnien,  broken  by  grief,  was  sitting  on  the 
bed,/4nd  lowered  his  eyes  without  understanding 
an/thing. 

V  "  Listen,"  said  Jean  Francois,  who  came  and 
took  him  by  the  hands.  "  I  understand  !  You 
have  stolen  three  gold-pieces  to  buy  some  trifle 
for  a  girl.  That  costs  six  months  in  prison.  But 
one  only  comes  out  from  there  to  go  back  again, 
and  you  will  become  a  pillar  of  police  courts  and 
tribunals.  I  understand  it.  I  have  been  seven 


28  THE    SUBSTITUTE. 

years  at  the  Reform  School,  a  year  at  Samte 
Pe'lagie,  three  years  at  Poissy,  five  years  at  Tou- 
lon. Now,  don't  be  afraid.  Everything  is  ar- 
ranged. I  have  taken  it  on  my  shoulders.'* 
C"  It  is  dreadful,"  said  Savinien  ;  but  hope  was 
ringing  up  again  in  his  cowardly  hearty 
"When  the  elder  brother  is  under  the  flag, 
the  younger  one  does  not  go,"  replied  Jean  Fran- 
c.ois.  "  I  am  your  substitute,  that 's  all.  You 
care  for  me  a  little,  do  you  not  ?  I  am  paid. 
(Don't  be  childish — don't  refuse.!  They  would 
have  taken  me  again  one  of  these  days,  for  I  am 
a  runaway  from  exile.  And  then,  do  you  see, 
that  life  will  be  less  hard  for  me  than  for  you.  I 
know  it  all,  and  I  shall  not  complain  if  I  have 
not  done  you  this  service  for  nothing,  and  if  you 
swear  to  me  that  you  will  never  do  it  again. 
Savinien,  I  have  loved  you  well,  and  your  friend- 
ship has  made  me  happy.  It  is  through  it  that, 
since  I  have  known  you,  I  have  been  honest  and 
pure,  as  I  might  always  have  been,  perhaps,  if  I 
had  had,  like  you,  a  father  to  put  a  tool  in  my 
hands,  a  mother  to  teach  me  my  prayers.  It  was 
my  sole  regret  that  I  was  useless  to  you,  and  that 
I  deceived  you  concerning  myself.  To-day  I 
have  unmasked  in  saving  you.  It  is  all  right J 
Do  not  cry,  and  embrace  me,  for  already  I  hear 
heavy  boots  on  the  stairs.  They  are  coming 
with  the  posse,  and  we  must  not  seem  to  know 
each  other  so  well  before  those  chaps." 


THE    SUBSTITUTE.  2$ 

He  pressed  Savinien  quickly  to  his  breast,  then 
pushed  him  from  him,  when  the  door  was  thrown 
wide  open. 

It  was  the  landlord  and  the  Auvergnat,  who 
brought  the  police.  Jean  Francois  sprang  for- 
ward to  the  landing-place,  held  out  his  hands 
for  the  handcuffs,  and  said,  laughing,  "  Forward, 
bad  lot !  " 

To-day  he  is  at  Cayenne,  condemned  for  life 
as  an  incorrigible. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL 

BY 

EMILE  ZOLA 


From  "  Jacques  Damour,"  by  Emile  Zola.    Translated 

by  William  Foster  Apthorp.     Published  by 

Copeland  &  Day. 


Copyright,  1895,  ty  Copeland  &  Day. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL 

BY   EMILE   ZOLA 
I. 

OLD  Merlier's  mill  was  in  high  feather,  that 
fine  summer  evening.  In  the  courtyard 
they  had  set  out  three  tables,  end  to  end,  ready  for 
the  guests.  All  the  country  knew  that,  on  that  day, 
Merlier's  daughter  Franchise  was  to  be  betrothed 
to  Dominique,  a  fellow  who  had  the  name  of  be- 
ing an  idle  loafer,  but  whom  the  women  for  eight 
miles  round  looked  at  with  glistening  eyes,  so 
well-favored  was  he. 

This  mill  of  old  Merlier's  was  a  real  delight. 
It  stood  just  in  the  middle  of  Rocreuse,  at  the 
point  where  the  highway  makes  a  sharp  turn. 
The  village  has  only  one  street,  two  rows  of 
hovels,  one  row  on  each  side  of  the  road ;  but 
there,  at  the  corner,  the  fields  spread  out  wide, 
great  trees,  following  the  course  of  the  Morelle, 
cover  the  depths  of  the  valley  with  a  magnificent 
shade.  There  is  not  in  all  Lorraine  a  more  lovely 
bit  of  nature.  /  To  the  right  and  left,  thick  woods 
of  century-old  trees  rise  up  the  gentle  slopes,  fill- 
3  33 


34  THE  ATTACK    ON   THE  MILL. 

ing  the  horizon  with  a  sea  of  verdure  ;  while, 
towards  the  south,  the  plain  stretches  out  mar- 
vellously fertile,  unfolding  without  end  its  plots 
of  land  divided  by  live  hedges.  But  what,  above 
all  else,  gives  Rocreuse  its  charm  is  the  coolness 
of  this  green  nook  in  the  hottest  days  of  July  and 
August.  The  Morelle  comes  down  from  the 
Gagny  woods,  and  it  seems  as  if  it  brought  with 
it  the  coolness  of  the  foliage  beneath  which  it 
flows  for  miles;  it  brings  the  murmuring  sounds, 
the  icy  and  sequestered  shade  of  the  forests. 
And  it  is  »ot  the  only  source  of  coolness  :  all 
sorts  of  running  water  babble  beneath  the  trees ; 
at  every  step  springs  gush^fqrth  ;  you  feel,  while 
following  the  narrow"  paths,  as  if  subterranean 
lakes  were  forcing  their  way  through  the  moss, 
and  taking  advantage  of  the  smallest  fissures,  at 
the  foot  of  trees,  between  rocks,  to  overflow  in 
crystalline  fountains.  The  whispering  voices  of 
these  brooks  rise  so  multitudinous  and  high  that 
they  drown  the  bulfinches'  song.  You  would 
think  yourself  in  some  enchanted  park,  with 
waterfalls  on  every  hand. 

Below,  the  meadows  are  soaking  wet.  Gigan- 
tic chestnuts  cast  their  black  shadows.  Along 
the  edge  of  the  fields,  long  lines  of  poplars  spread 
out  their  rustling  drapery.  There  are  two  ave- 
nues of  huge  sycamore-maples  rising  across  the 
fields,  up  toward  the  old  chateau  of  Gagny,  now 
in  ruins.  In  this  perpetually  watered  soil  the 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.         3$ 

weeds  grow  rank.  It  is  like  a  flower  garden  lying 
between  two  wooded  hillsides  ;  but  a  natural  gar- 
den, in  which  the  lawns  are  fields,  and  giant  trees 
trace  out  colossal  flower-beds.  When  the  sun, 
at  noon,  casts  its  rays  straight  down,  the  shadows 
turn  blue,  the  scorched  weeds  slumber  in  the 
heat,  while  an  icy  shudder  runs  along  beneath 
the  foliage.  / 

It  was  there  that  old  Merlier's  mill  enlivened  a 
nook  of  rank  green  growth  with  its  clacking.  The 
building,  of  planks  and  mortar,  seemed  as  old  as 
the  world.  Half  of  it  dipped  into  the  Morelle, 
which,  at  this  point,  widens  out  into  a  clear, 
rounded  basin.  A  dam  was  contrived  to  let  the 
water  fall  from  a  height  of  several  metres  upon 
the  mill-wheel,  which  turned  creaking,  with  the 
asthmatic  cough  of  a  faithful  servant,  grown  old 
in  the  household.  When  people  advised  old 
Merlier  to  change  it  for  a  new  one,  he  would 
shake  his  head,  saying  that  a  young  wheel  would 
be  lazier  and  not  so  well  up  in  its  business  ;  and 
he  mended  the  old  one  with  everything  that  came 
to  hand, — staves  of  casks,  bits  of  rusty  iron,  zinc, 
lead.  The  wheel  seemed  all  the  gayer  for  it,  its 
outline  grown  strange,  all  beplumed  with  weeds 
and  moss.  When  the  water  beat  against  it  with 
its  silver  stream,  it  would  cover  itself  with  beads, 
you  saw  it  deck  out  its  strange  carcass  with  a 
sparkling  bedizenment  of  mother-of-pearl  neck- 
laces. 


36         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

The  part  of  the  mill  that  thus  dipped  into  the 
Morelle  looked  like  a  barbarous  ark,  stranded 
there.  A  good  half  of  the  structure  was  built  on 
piles.  The  water  ran  in  under  the  board  floor  ; 
there,  too,  were  holes,  well  known  in  the  country 
for  the  eels  and  enormous  crawfish  caught  there. 
Above  the  fall,  the  basin  was  as  clear  as  a  mirror, 
and  when  the  wheel  did  not  cloud  it  with  its  foam, 
you  could  see  shoals  of  large  fish  swimming  there 
with  the  deliberateness  of  a  naval  squadron.  A 
broken  flight  of  steps  led  down  to  the  river,  near 
a  stake  to  which  a  boat  was  moored.  A  wooden 
balcony  ran  above  the  wheel.  Windows  opened 
upon  it,  cut  at  irregular  distances.  This  pelltnell 
of  corners,  little  walls,  L's  added  as  an  after- 
thought, beams  and  bits  of  roof,  gave  the  mill 
the  appearance  of  an  old  dismantled  citadel. 
But  ivy  had  grown  there,  all  sorts  of  climbing 
vines  had  stopped  up  the  two  wide  cracks  and 
thrown  a  cloak  of  green  over  the  old  dwelling. 
Young  ladies  who  passed  by  would  sketch  old 
Merlier's  mill  in  their  albums. 

Toward  the  road  the  house  was  stouter.  A 
stone  gateway  opened  upon  the  main  courtyard, 
which  was  bordered  on  the  right  by  sheds  and 
stables.  Near  a  well  a  huge  elm  covered  half 
the  courtyard  with  its  shade.  At  the  farther 
end,  the  house  showed  the  line  of  its  four  first- 
story  windows,  surmounted  by  a  pigeon-house. 
Old  Merlier's  only  bit  of  dandyism  was  to  have 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          37 

this  wall  whitewashed  every  ten  years.  It  had 
just  been  whitened,  and  dazzled  the  village  when 
the  sun  lighted  it  up  in  the  middle  of  the  day. 

For  twenty  years  old  Merlier  had  been  mayor 
of  Rocreuse.  He  was  esteemed  for  the  fortune 
he  had  managed  to  make.  He  was  supposed  to 
be  worth  something  like  eighty  thousand  francs, 
laid  up  sou  by  sou.  When  he  married  Made- 
leine Guillard,  who  brought  him  the  mill  as  her 
dowry,  he  hardly  possessed  anything  but  his  two 
arms  ;  but  Madeleine  never  repented  her  choice, 
so  well  did  he  manage  the  affairs  of  the  house- 
hold. Now  that  his  wife  was  dead,  he  remained 
a  widower  with  his  daughter  Frangoise.  No 
doubt,  he  might  have  taken  a  rest,  left  his  mill 
to  sleep  in  the  moss  ;  but  he  would  have  been 
too  much  bored,  and  the  house  would  have 
seemed  dead  to  him.  He  kept  on  working,  for 
the  fun  of  it.  Old  Merlier  was  then  a  tall  old 
man,  with  a  long,  silent  face,  never  laughing,  but 
very  jolly  internally,  nevertheless.  He  had  been 
chosen  for  mayor  on  account  of  his  money,  and 
also  for  the  fine  air  he  knew  how  to  assume,  when 
he  married  a  couple. 

Franchise  Merlier  was  just  eighteen.  She  did 
not  pass  for  one  of  the  beauties  of  the  country- 
side ;  she  was  too  puny.  Up  to  the  age  of 
eleven  she  was  even  ugly.  No  one  in  Rocreuse 
could  understand  how  the  daughter  of  father  and 
mother  Merlier,  both  of  them  ruggedly  built, 


38         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

could  grow  up  so  ill,  and,  so  to  speak,  grudgingly. 
But  at  fifteen,  although  still  delicate,  she  had  the 
prettiest  little  face  in  the  world.  She  had  black 
hair,  black  eyes,  and  at  the  same  time  was  all 
rosy  ;  a  mouth  that  laughed  all  the  time,  dimpled 
cheeks,  a  clear  brow  on  which  there  seemed  to 
rest  a  crown  of  sunshine.  Although  puny  for  the 
neighborhood,  she  was  not  thin,  far  from  it;  peo- 
ple only  meant  that  she  could  not  shoulder  a  sack 
of  grain  ;  but  she  grew  very^plump  with  time, 
and  stood  a  good  chance  of  ending  by  being  round 
and  dainty  as  a  quail.  Only  her  father's  long 
spells  of  speechlessness  had  made  her  thought- 
ful at  an  early  age.  If  she  was  always  laughing, 
it  was  to  give  others  pleasure.  At  bottom,  she 
was  serious. 

Naturally  all  the  countryside  courted  her,  still 
more  for  her  dollars  than  for  her  niceness.  And 
at  last,  she  made  a  choice  that  had  just  scandal- 
ized the  country.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Mo- 
relle  lived  a  young  fellow,  named  Dominique 
Penquer.  He  did  not  belong  in  Rocreuse.  Ten 
years  before,  he  had  come  there  from  Belgium, 
to  take  possession  of  a  legacy  from  an  uncle  of 
his  who  owned  a  little  piece  of  property  on  the 
very  outskirts  of  the  Gagny  forest,  just  opposite 
the  mill,  within  a  few  gunshots.  He  came  to  sell 
this  property,  he  said,  and  go  home  again.  But 
the  country  fascinated  him,  it  seems,  for  he  did 
not  stir.  He  was  seen  tilling  his  bit  of  field, 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          39 

picking  a  few  vegetables,  on  which  he  livea. 
He  fished,  he  went  shooting ;  several  times  the 
gamekeepers  just  missed  catching  him  and  re- 
porting him  to  the  authorities.  This  free  life, 
the  material  resources  of  which  the  peasants 
could  not  well  account  for,  had  at  last  given  him 
a  bad  name.  He  was  vaguely  spoken  of  as  a 
poacher.  At  all  events,  he  was  lazy,  for  he  was 
often  found  asleep  in  the  grass  at  times  when 
he  ought  to  have  been  at  work.  The  hut  in 
which  he  lived,  under  the  first  trees  of  the  for- 
est, did  not  look  like  an  honest  fellow's  dwelling 
either.  If  he  had  had  business  with  the  wolves 
of  the  old  ruins  of  Gagny,  it  would  not  have  sur- 
prised the  old  women.  Yet  the  girls  would,  now 
and  then,  have  the  audacity  to  stand  up  for  him  ; 
for  this  suspicious  man  was  a  superb  fellow,  tall 
and  supple  as  a  poplar,  with  a  very  white  skin, 
and  fair  beard  and  hair  that  shone  like  gold  in 
the  sun.  So,  one  fine  morning,  Frangoise  de- 
clared to  her  father  that  she  loved  Dominique, 
and  that  she  would  never  consent  to  marry  any 
one  else. 

You  can  imagine  what  a  blow  old  Merlier  re- 
ceived that  day.  He  said  nothing,  as  usual.  He 
always  looked  thoughtful  in  the  face ;  only  his 
internal  jollity  stopped  sparkling  in  his  eyes.  The 
two  did  not  speak  for  a  week.  Frangoise,  too, 
WP  very  grave.  What  bothered  old  Merlier  was 
to  make  out  how  in  the  world  that  rascal  of  a 


4O  THE    ATTACK   ON    THE    MILL. 

poacher  could  have  bewitched  his  daughter. 
Dominique  had  never  come  to  the  mill.  The 
miller  began  to  watch  him,  and  espied  the  gallant 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Morelle,  lying  in  the  grass 
and  pretending  to  be  asleep.  The  thing  was 
clear :  they  must  have  fallen  in  love,  making 
sheep's-eyes  at  each  other  across  the  mill-wheel. 

Meanwhile  another  week  passed  by.  Fran- 
9oise  looked  more  and  more  solemn.  Old  Mer- 
lier  still  said  nothing.  Then,  one  evening,  he 
brought  Dominique  home  with  him,  without  a 
word.  Fran9oise  was  just  setting  the  table.  She 
did  not  seem  astonished ;  she  only  added  an- 
other plate  and  knife  and  fork ;  but  the  little 
dimples  appeared  once  more  in  her  cheeks,  and 
her  laugh  came  back  again.  That  morning  old 
Merlier  had  gone  after  Dominique  to  his  hut  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood.  There  the  two  men 
had  talked  for  three  hours,  with  closed  doors  and 
windows.  No  one  ever  knew  what  they  found  to 
say  to  each  other.  What  was  certain  was  that, 
on  coming  out,  old  Merlier  already  treated  Domi- 
nique like  his  own  son.  No  doubt,  the  old  man 
had  found  the  man  he  was  after,  a  fine  fellow,  in 
this  lazybones  who  lay  in  the  grass  to  make  the 
girls  fall  in  love  with  him. 

All  Rocreuse  gossiped.  The  women,  in  the 
doorways,  did  not  run  dry  of  tittle-tattle  about 
old  Merlier's  folly  in  taking  a  scapegrace  into  his 
household.  He  let  them  talk  on.  Perhaps  he 


THE    ATTACK    ON   THE    MILL.  4! 

remembered  his  own  marriage.  Neither  had  he 
a  red  sou  when  he  married  Madeleine  and  her 
mill ;  but  that  did  not  prevent  his  making  a  good 
husband.  Besides,  Dominique  cut  the  gossip 
short  by  going  to  work  with  such  a  will  that  the 
whole  country  marvelled  at  it.  It  so  happened 
that  the  miller's  boy  had  just  been  drafted ;  and 
Dominique  would  never  hear  of  his  hiring  an- 
other. He  carried  the  sacks,  drove  the  cart, 
struggled  with  the  old  wheel  when  it  had  to  be 
begged  hard  before  it  would  turn,  and  all  with 
such  a  will  that  people  would  come  to  look  at 
him  for  sheer  pleasure.  Old  Merlier  laughed 
his  quiet  laugh.  He  was  very  proud  of  having 
scented  out  this  fellow.  There  is  nothing  like 
love  for  putting  heart  into  young  people. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  hard  work  Francoise 
and  Dominique  adored  each  other.  They  hardly 
ever  spoke,  but  they  looked  at  each  other  with 
smiling  tenderness.  So  far,  old  Merlier  had  not 
said  a  single  word  about  the  marriage  ;  and  they 
both  respected  this  silence,  awaiting  the  old  man's 
pleasure.  At  last,  one  day  about  the  middle  of 
July,  he  had  three  tables  set  out  in  the  courtyard 
under  the  big  elm,  inviting  his  friends  in  Rocreuse 
to  come  and  take  a  drink  with  him  in  the  even- 
ing. When  the  courtyard  was  full,  and  every  one 
had  his  glass  in  his  hand,  old  Merlier  raised  his 
very  high,  saying : 

"  This  is  for  the  pleasure  of  announcing  to 


42         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

you  that  Franc,  oise  will  marry  that  fellow  there 
in  a  month,  on  Saint-Louis's  day." 

Then  they  clinked  glasses  noisily.  Everybody 
laughed.  But  old  Merlier,  raising  his  voice, 
went  on,— 

"  Dominique,  kiss  your  intended.     That 

must  be  done." 

And  they  kissed  each  other,  very  red,  while 
the  crowd  laughed  still  louder.  It  was  a  real' 
jollification.  A  small  cask  was  emptied.  Then, 
when  only  the  intimate  friends  were  left,  they 
chatted  quietly.  Night  had  come,  a  starlit  and 
very  clear  night.  Dominique  and  Frangoise,  sit- 
ting side  by  side  on  a  bench,  said  nothing.  An 
old  peasant  spoke  of  the  war  the  emperor  had 
declared  with  Prussia.  All  the  boys  in  the  vil- 
lage were  already  gone.  The  day  before,  troops 
had  passed  through.  There  would  be  hard 
knocks  going. 

^"  Bah  ! "  said  old  Merlier,  with  a  happy 

man's  egoism.  "  Dominique  is  a  foreigner,  he 
won't  go.  .  .  .  And,  if  the  Prussians  come,  he 
will  be  here  to  defend  his  wife."  / 

This  notion  that  the  Prussians  might  come 
seemed  a  good  joke.  They  were  to  be  given  an 
A  i  thrashing,  and  it  would  be  soon  over. 

"  I  've  seen  'em,  I  Ve  seen  'em,"  the  old 

peasant  said  over  and  over  again. 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  they  clinked  glasses 
once  more.  Frangoise  and  Dominique  had  heard 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.         43 

nothing;  they  had  taken  each  other  softly  by 
the  hand,  behind  the  bench,  so  that  no  one  could 
see  them,  and  it  seemed  so  good  that  they  stayed 
there,  their  eyes  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  dark- 
ness. 

How  warm  and  splendid  a  night !  The  village 
was  falling  asleep  on  both  sides  of  the  road, 
tranquil  as  a  child.  You  only  heard,  from  time 
to  time,  the  crowing  of  some  cock,  waked  too 
soon.  From  the  great  woods  hard  by  came  long 
breaths  that  passed  like  caresses  over  the  roofs. 
The  meadows,  with  their  black  shadows,  put  on 
a  mysterious  and  secluded  majesty,  while  all  the 
running  waters  that  gushed  forth  into  the  dark- 
ness seemed  to  be  the  cool  and  rhythmic  breath- 
ing of  the  sleeping  country.  At  moments,  the 
mill-wheel,  fast  asleep,  seemed  to  be  dreaming, 
like  those  old  watchdogs  that  bark  while  snoring. 
It  creaked,  it  talked  all  by  itself,  lulled  by  the 
falls  of  the  Morelle,  whose  sheet  of  water  gave 
forth  the  sustained  and  musical  note  of  an  organ 
pipe.  Never  had  more  widespread  peace  fallen 
over  a  happier  corner  of  the  earth. 


H. 

JUST  a  month  later,  day  for  day,  on  Saint- 
Louis's  eve,  Rocre^u^jwas  in  dismay.  The  Prus- 
sians had  beaten  the  emperor,  and  were  advanc- 
ing toward  the  village  by  forced  marches.  For 


44         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

a  week  past,  people  passing  along  the  road  had 
announced  the  Prussians  :  "  They  are  at  Lor- 
miere,  they  are  at  Novelles  ; "  and,  hearing  that 
they  were  approaching  so  fast,  Rocreuse  thought, 
every  morning,  to  see  them  come  down  by  the 
Gagny  woods.  Still,  they  did  not  come;  this 
frightened  the  inhabitants  still  more.  They 
would  surely  fall  upon  the  village  at  night  and 
cut  everybody's  throat. 

The  night  before,  a  little  before  daybreak, 
there  had  been, an  alarjm.  The. inhabitants  had 
waked  up,  hearing  a  great  noise  of  men  on  the 
road.  The  women  were  just  falling  upon  their 
knees  and  crossing  themselves,  when  red  trou- 
sers  were  recognized  through  cracks  of  windows 
prudently  opened.  It  was  a  "detachment  of 
French.  The  captain  immediately  asked  for  the 
mayor  of  the  place,  and  stayed  at  the  mill,  after 
talking  with  old  Merlier. 

(JThe  sun  rose  gayly  that  day.  It  would  be  hot 
at  noon.  Over  trie  woods  floated  a  yellow  light, 
while  in  the  distance,  above  the  meadows,  rose 
white  vapors.  The  clean,  pretty  village  awoke 
in  the  cool  air,  and  the  country,  with  its  river 
and  springs,  had  the  dew-sprinkled  loveliness  of 
a  nosegay,_jBut  this  fine  weather  made  no  one 
laugh. nj  They  had  just  seen  the  captain  walk 
round  about  the  mill,  examine  the  neighboring 
houses,  cross  to  the  other  side  of  the  Morelle, 
and  from  there  study  the  country  through  a  spy- 


THE    ATTACK    ON   THE    MILL.  45 

glass ;  old  Merlier,  who  was  with  him,  seemed  to 
be  explaining  the  country  to  him.  Then  the  cap- 
tain stationed  soldiers  behind  walls,  behind  trees, 
in  holes  in  the  ground.  The  bulk  of  the  detach- 
ment was  encamped  in  the  courtyard  of  the  mill. 
So  there  was  to  be  a  fight  ?  And  when  old  Mer- 
lier came  back,  he  was  plied  with  questions.  He 
gave  a  long  nod  with  his  head,  without  speaking. 
Yes,  there  was  to  be  a  fight. 

Franchise  and  Dominique  were  in  the  court- 
yard, looking  at  him.  At  last,  he  took  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth  and  said  simply, — 

"  Ah  !  my  poor  children,  there  will  be  no 

wedding  for  you  to-morrow  !  " 

Dominique,  his  lips  set,  a  line  of  anger  across 
his  forehead,  raised  himself  up  on  tiptoe  from  time 
to  time,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Gagny  woods, 
as  if  he  longed  to  see  the  Prussians  come.  Fran- 
£oise,  very  pale,  serious,  came  and  went,  supply- 
ing the  soldiers  with  what  they  needed.  They 
were  making  their  soup  in  a  corner  of  the  court' 
yard,  and  joking  while  waiting  for  their  meal. 

Meanwhile  the  captain  seemed  delighted.  He 
had  examined  the  rooms  and  the  great  hall  of 
the  mill,  looking  out  upon  the  river.  Now,  sit- 
ting by  the  well,  he  was  talking  with  old  Merlier. 

"  You  have  a  real  fortress  here,"  said  he. 

"  We  ought  to  hold  out  till  evening.  .  .  .  The  beg- 
gars are  late.  They  should  be  here  by  this  time." 

The  miller  looked  serious.      He  saw  his  mill 


46         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL, 

flaming  like  a  torch ;  but  he  did  not  complain, 
thinking  it  useless.  He  only  opened  his  mouth 
to  say,— 

"  You  ought  to  have  some  one  hide  the 

boat  behind  the  wheel.  There  is  a  hole  there  that 
will  hold  her.  .  .  .  Perhaps  she  may  be  of  use." 

The  captain  gave  an  order.  This  captain  was 
a  handsome  man  of  about  forty,  tall  and  with  a 
kindly  face.  The  sight  of  Frangoise  and  Domi- 
nique seemed  to  please  him.  He  was  interested 
in  them,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  coming  strug- 
gle. He  followed  Frangoise  about  with  his  eyes, 
and  his  look  told  plainly  that  he  found  her  charm- 
ing. Then,  turning  to  Dominique, — 

"  So  you  're  not  in  the  army,  my  boy  ?  "  he 

asked  abruptly. 

—  "  I  'm  a   foreigner,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered. 

The  captain  seemed  only  half  pleased  with 
this  reason.  He  winked  and  smiled.  Frangoise 
was  pleasanter  company  than  cannon.  Then, 
seeing  him  smile,  Dominique  added, — 

"  I  'm  a  foreigner,  but  I  can  put  a  bullet 

into  an  apple  at  five  hundred  metres.  .  .  .  See, 
my  gun  's  there,  behind  you." 

u  It  may  be  of  use  to  you,"  the  captain 

replied  simply. 

Frangoise  had  come  up,  trembling  a  little. 
And,  without  minding  the  people  there,  Domi- 
nique took  both  the  hands  she  held  out  to  him, 


THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL,  47 

and  pressed  them  in  his,  as  if  to  take  her  under 
his  protection.  The  captain  smiled  again,  but 
added  not  a  word.  He  remained  sitting,  his 
sword  between  his  legs,  his  eyes  looking  at 
vacancy,  as  if  in  a  dream. 

It  was  already  t  .  j  o'clock.  It  wa$  growing 
very  hot.  There  was  a  dead  silence.;  In  the 
courtyard,  under  the  sheds,  the  soldiers  had  fallen 
to  eating  their  soup.  Not  a  sound  came  from 
the  village,  in  which  the  people  had  barricaded 
their  houses,  doors,  and  windows.  A  dog,  left 
alone  in  the  road,  was  howling.  From  the  neigh- 
boring woods  and  meadows,  motionless  in  the 
heat,  came  a  far-off  voice,  long  sustained,  made 
up  of  every  separate  breath  of  air.  A  cuckoo 
was  singing.  Then  the  silence  spread  itself  over 
the  country  also. 

And,  in  this  slumbering  air,  a  shot  suddenly 
burst  forth.  The  captain  sprang  up  quickly,  the 
soldiers  dropped  their  plates  of  soup,  still  half 
full.  In  a  few  seconds,  every  man  was  at  his 
post  for  the  fight ;  the  mill  was  occupied  from 
top  to  bottom.  Yet  the  captain,  who  had  gone 
out  upon  the  road,  could  make  out  nothing ;  to 
the  right  and  left,  the  road  stretched  out,  empty 
and  all  white.  A  second  shot  was  heard,  and  still 
nothing,  not  a  shadow ;  but,  on  turning  round, 
he  espied,  over  towards  Gagny,  between  two 
trees,  a  light  cloudlet  of  smoke  wafted  away  like 
gossamer.  The  wood  was  still  profoundly  quiet. 


48          THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

"  The  rascals  have  taken  to  the  forest,"  he 

muttered.  "  They  know  we  are  here." 

Then  the  firing  kept  up  harder,  and  harder, 
between  the  French  soldiers,  stationed  round  the 
mill,  and  the  Prussians,  hidden  behind  the  trees. 
The  bullets  whistled  across  the  Morelle,  without 
occasioning  any  loss  on  one  side  or  the  other. 
The  shots  were  irregular,  came  from  every  bush ; 
and  all  you  saw  was  still  the  little  clouds  of 
smoke  gently  wafted  away  by  the  wind.  This 
lasted  for  nearly  two  hours.  The  officer  hummed 
a  tune,  as  if  indifferent.  Franchise  and  Domi- 
nique, who  had  stayed  in  the  courtyard,  raised 
themselves  up  on  tiptoe,  and  looked  over  the 
wall.  They  were  particularly  interested  in  watch- 
ing a  little  soldier,  stationed  on  the  brink  of  the 
Morelle,  behind  the  hulk  of  an  old  boat;  he  was 
flat  on  his  belly,  watched  his  chance,  fired  his 
shot,  then  let  himself  slide  down  into  a  ditch,  a 
little  behind  him,  to  reload  his  rifle;  and  his 
movements  were  so  droll,  so  cunning,  so  supple, 
that  it  made  one  smile  to  see  him.  He  must 
have  espied  the  head  of  some  Prussian,  for  he 
got  up  quickly  and  brought  his  piece  to  his 
shoulder;  but,  before  he  fired,  he  gave  a  cry, 
turned  over  upon  himself,  and  rolled  into  the 
ditch,  where  his  legs  stiffened  out  with  the  mo- 
mentary, convulsive  jerk  of  those  of  a  chicken 
with  its  neck  wrung.  The  little  soldier  had  re- 
ceived a  bullet  full  in  the  breast.  He  was  the 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          49 

first  man  killed.  Instinctively  Franchise  seized 
hold  of  Dominique's  hand  and  squeezed  it  with 
a  nervous  grip. 

"  Don't   stay  there,"   said   the    captain. 

"  The  bullets  reach  here." 

As  he  spoke  a  little,  sharp  stroke  was  heard 
in  the  old  elm,  and  a  branch  fell  in  zigzags 
through  the  air ;  but  the  two  young  people  did 
not  stir,  riveted  there  by  anxiety  at  the  sight 
On  the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  a  Prussian  came 
out  suddenly  from  behind  a  tree,  as  from  a  side 
scene,  beating  the  air  with  his  arms,  and  tum- 
bling over  backwards.  And  then  nothing  stirred, 
the  two  dead  men  seemed  to  sleep  in  the  daz- 
zling sunshine,  you  saw  no  one  in  the  torpid 
landscape.  Even  the  crack  of  the  shots  stopped. 
Only  the  Morelle  kept  up  its  silver-toned  whis- 
pering. 

Old  Merlier  looked  at  the  captain  in  surprise, 
as  if  to  ask  if  it  were  over. 

"  Here  it  comes,"    the  latter  muttered. 

"  Look  out  1     Don't  stay  there." 

He  had  not  finished  speaking  when  there 
cime  a  terrific  volley.  It  was  as  if  the  great 
elm  were  mowed  down,  a  cloud  of  leaves  whirled 
about  them.  Luckily  the  Prussians  had  fired 
too  high.  Dominique  dragged,  almost  carried 
Franchise  away,  while  old  Merlier  followed  them, 
crying  out, — 
4 


5O         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

— —  "  Go  down  to  the  little  cellar  ;  the 
are  solid." 

But  they  did  not  mind  him,  they  went  into  the 
great  hall,  where  ten  soldiers,  or  so,  were  wait- 
ing in  silence,  with  shutters  closed,  peeping 
through  the  cracks.  The  captain  had  stayed  ,. 
alone  in  the  courtyard,  crouched  down  behind^" 
the  little  wall,  while  the  furious  volleys  con- 
tinued. The  soldiers  he  had  stationed  outside 
yielded  ground  only  foot  by  foot.  Yet  they 
came  in,  one  by  one,  crawling  on  their  faces, 
when  the  enemy  had  dislodged  them  from  their 
hiding-places.  Their  orders  were  to  gain  time, 
not  to  show  themselves,  so  that  the  Prussians 
might  not  know  what  numbers  they  had  before 
them.  Another  hour  went  by ;  and,  as  a  ser- 
geant came  up,  saying  that  there  were  only  two 
or  three  men  left  outside,  the  officer  looked  at  his 
watch,  muttering, — 

"Half   after   two.  .  .  .  Come,  we   must 

hold  out  four  hours." 

He  had  the  gate  of  the  courtyard  shut,  and  all 
preparations  were  made  for  an  energetic  resist- 
ance. As  the  Prussians  were  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Morelle,  an  immediate  assault  was  not  to 
be  feared.  To  be  sure,  there  was  a  bridge,  a 
little  over  a  mile  off,  but  they  doubtless  did  not 
know  of  its  existence,  and  it  was  hardly  probable 
that  they  would  try  to  ford  the  river.  So  the 
officer  merely  had  the  road  watched.  The  whole 


THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL.  5! 

effort  was  to  be  made  on  the  side  toward  the 
fields. 

The  firing  had  once  more  ceased.  The  mill 
seemed  dead  beneath  the  hot  sun.  Not  a  shutter 
was  opened,  not  a  sound  came  from  the  inside. 
Little  by  little,  meanwhile,  the  Prussians  showed 
themselves  at  the  outskirts  of  the  Gagny  wood. 
They  stretched  forth  their  heads,  grew  more  dar- 
ing. In  the  mill,  several  soldiers  had  already 
levelled  their  rifles  ;  but  the  captain  cried  out, — 

"  No,  no,  wait.  .  .  .  Let  them  come  up." 

They  were  very  cautious  about  it,  looking  at 
the  mill  with  evident  distrust.  This  old  dwell- 
ing, silent  and  dismal,  with  its  curtains  of  ivy 
made  them  uneasy.  Still,  they  kept  advancing. 
When  there  were  about  fifty  of  them  in  the 
meadow  opposite,  the  officer  said  a  single 
word, — 

"  Fire  !  " 

A  tearing  sound  was  heard,  followed  by  single 
shots.  Frangoise,  shaken  with  a  fit  of  trembling, 
put  her  hands  up  to  her  ears,  in  spite  of  herself. 
Dominique,  behind  the  soldiers,  looked  on ;  and, 
when  the  smoke  had  blown  away  a  little,  he  saw 
three  Prussians  stretched  on  their  backs  in  the 
middle  of  the  field.  The  rest  had  thrown  them- 
selves down  behind  the  willows  and  poplars  ;  and 
the  siege  began^,^- 

For  over  an  hour  the  mill  was  riddled  with 
bullets.  They  whipped  its  old  walls  like  hail. 


52          THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

When  they  struck  stone,  you  heard  them  flatten 
out  and  fall  back  into  the  water.     Into  wood  the)\? 
penetrated  with  a  hollow  sound.     Now  and  then^  N 
a  cracking  told  that  the  wheel  had  been  hit.    The 
soldiers  inside  husbanded  their  shots,  fired  only 
when  they  could  take  aim.     From  time  to  time 
the  captain  would  look  at  his  watch  ;  and,  as  a 
ball  split  a  shutter  and  then  lodged  in  the  ceil- 
ing,— 

"  Four  o'clock,"  he  muttered.    "  We  shall 

never  hold  out." 

It  was  true,  this  terrible  firing  of  musketry 
was  shivering  the  old  mill.  A  shutter  fell  into 
the  water,  riddled  like  a  piece  of  lace,  and  had  to 
be  replaced  by  a  mattress.  Old  Merlier  exposed 
himself  every  moment,  to  make  sure  of  the  in- 
jury done  to  his  poor  wheel,  whose  cracking  went 
to  his  heart.  It  was  all  over  with  it,  this  time  ; 
never  would  he  be  able  to  repair  it.  Dominique 
had  implored  Frangoise  to  go,  but  she  would 
stay  with  him ;  she  had  sat  down  behind  a  great 
oak  clothespress,  the  sides  of  which  gave  out  a 
deep  sound.  Then  Dominique  placed  himself 
in  front  of  Frangoise.  He  had  not  fired  yet ;  he 
held  his  gun  in  his  hands,  not  being  able  to  get 
up  to  the  windows,  whose  entire  width  was  taken 
up  by  the  soldiers.  At  every  discharge  the  floor 
shook. 

"  Look  out  I  look  out ! "  the  captain  cried 

of  a  sudden. 


THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL.  53 

He  had  just  seen  a  whole  black  mass  come 
out  from  the  wood.  Immediately  a  formidable 
platoon  fire  was  opened.  It  was  as  if  a  water- 
spout had  passed  over  the  mill.  Another  shutter 
gave  way,  and,  by  the  gaping  opening  of  the 
window,  the  bullets  came  in.  Two  soldiers 
rolled  upon  the  floor.  One  did  not  move  ;  they 
pushed  him  up  against  the  wall,  because  he 
was  in  the  way.  The  other  squirmed  on  the 
ground,  begging  them  to  make  an  end  of  him ; 
but  no  one  minded  him,  the  balls  kept  coming 
in,  every  one  shielded  himself,  and  tried  to  find 
a  loophole  to  fire  back  through.  A  third  soldier 
was  wounded  ;  he  said  not  a  word,  he  let  him- 
self slide  down  by  the  edge  of  a  table,  with  fixed 
and  haggard  eyes.  Opposite  these  dead  men, 
Franchise,  seized  with  horror,  had  pushed  her 
chair  aside  mechanically,  to  sit  down  on  the 
ground  next  the  wall ;  she  felt  smaller  there,  and 
in  less  danger.  Meanwhile  they  had  gone  after 
all  the  mattresses  in  the  house,  and  had  half 
stopped  up  the  window.  The  hall  was  getting 
filled  with  rubbish,  with  broken  weapons,  with 
gutted  furniture. 

"  Five  o'clockj"  said  the  captain.  "  Keep 

it  up.  .  .  .  They  are  going  to  try  to  cross  the 
water." 

At  this  instant  Franchise  gave  a  shriek.  A 
rebounding  ball  had  just  grazed  her  forehead. 
A  few  drops  of  blood  appeared.  Dominique 


54  THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL. 

looked  at  her ;  then,  stepping  up  to  the  window, 
he  fired  his  first  shot,  and  kept  on  firing.  He 
loaded,  fired,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
what  was  going  on  near  him ;  only  from  time  to 
time  he  would  give  Francoise  a  look.  For  the 
rest,  he  did  not  hurry  himself,  took  careful  aim. 
The  Prussians,  creeping  along  by  the  poplars, 
were  attempting  the  passage  of  the  Morelle,  as 
the  captain  had  foreseen  ;  but,  as  soon  as  one  of 
them  risked  showing  himself,  he  would  fall,  hit 
in  the  head  by  a  ball  from  Dominique.  The 
captain,  who  followed  this  game,  was  astonished. 
He  complimented  the  young  man,  ^saying  that 
he  would  be  glad  to  have  a  lot  of  marksmen  like 
him.  Dominique  did  not  hear  him.  A  ball  cut 
his  shoulder,  another  bruised  his  arm  ;  and  he 
kept  on  firing. 

There  were  two  more  men  killed.  The  mat- 
resses,  all  slashed  to  bits,  no  longer  stopped  up 
the  windows.  A  last  volley  seemed  as  if  it  would 
carry  away  the  mill.  The  position  was  no  longer 
tenable.  Still  the  officer  repeated, — 

"  Stick  to  it.  ...  Half  an  hour  more." 

Now  he  counted  the  minutes.  He  had  prom- 
ised his  superior  officers  to  hold  the  enemy  there 
until  evening,  and  would  not  draw  back  a  sole's 
breadth  before  the  time  he  had  set  for  the  retreat. 
He  still  had  his  gracious  manner,  smiling  at 
Francoise,  to  reassure  her.  He  himself  had  just 
picked  up  a  dead  soldier's  rifle,  and  was  firing. 


THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL.  55 

There  were  only  four  soldiers  left  in  the  hall. 
The  Prussians  showed  themselves  in  a  body  on 
the  other  bank  of  the  Morelle,  and  it  was  evident 
that  they  might  cross  the  river  at  any  time.  A 
few  minutes  more  elapsed.  The  captain  stuck 
to  it  obstinately,  would  not  give  the  order  to 
retreat,  when  a  sergeant  came  running  up,  say- 
ing.— 

"  They  are  on  the  road,  they  are  going  to 

take  us  in  the  rear." 

The  Prussians  must  have  found  the  bridge. 
The  captain  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"  Five  minutes  more,"  said  he.     "  They 

won't  be  here  for  five  minutes." 

Then,  at  the  stroke  of  six,  he  at  last  consented 
to  order  his  men  out  by  a  little  door,  opening 
upon  an  alleyway.  From  there  they  threw  them- 
selves into  a  ditch,  they  reached  the  Sauval  forest. 
Before  going,  the  captain  saluted  old  Merlier 
very  politely,  excusing  himself.  And  he  even 
added, — 

"  Make  them  lose  time.  .  .  .  We  shall  be 

back  again." 

Meanwhile  Dominique  stayed  on  in  the  hall. 
He  still  kept  firing,  hearing  nothing,  understand- 
ing nothing.  He  only  felt  that  he  must  defend 
Frangoise.  The  soldiers  were  gone,  without  his  • 
suspecting  it  the  least  in  the  world.  He  took  aim 
and  killed  his  man  at  every  shot.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  loud  noise.  The  Prussians,  from 


$6         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

the  rear,  had  just  overrun  the  courtyard.  Ht 
fired  his  last  shot,  and  they  fell  upon  him  as  his 
piece  was  still  smoking. 

Four  men  held  him.  Others  shouted  round 
him  in  a  frightful  language.  They  all  but  cut  his 
throat  off-hand.  Franchise  threw  herself  before 
him  in  supplication  ;  but  an  officer  came  in  and 
took  charge  of  the  prisoner.  After  a  few  sen- 
tences exchanged  in  German  with  the  soldiers,  he 
turned  to  Dominique  and  said  roughly,  and  in 
very  good  French, — 

"  You  will  be  shot  in  two  hours." 


III. 

IT  was  a  rule  made  by  the  German  staff  :  every 
Frenchman  not  belonging  to  the  regular  army, 
and  taken  with  arms  in  his  hands,  should  be  shot. 
Even  the  guerilla  companies  were  not  recognized 
as  belligerents.  By  thus  making  terrible  exam- 
ples of  the  peasants  who  defended  their  own 
firesides,  the  Germans  wished  to  prevent  the 
uprising  of  the  whole  country  eji  masse,  which 
they  dreaded. 

The  officer,  a  tall,  lean  man  of  about  fifty, 
put  Dominique  through  a  brief  examination. 
Although  he  spoke  very  pure  French,  he  had 
quite  the  Prussian  stiffness. 

"  You  belong  in  these  parts  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  a  Belgian." 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          57 

"  Why  have  you   taken  up   arms  ?  .  .  . 

All  this  can't  be  any  of  your  business. " 

Dominique  did  not  answer.  At  this  moment, 
the  officer  caught  sight  of  Fran9oise,  standing 
upright  and  very  pale,  listening  ;  her  slight  wound 
put  a  red  bar  across  her  white  forehead.  He 
looked  at  the  young  people,  one  after  the  other, 
seemed  to  understand,  and  contented  himself 
with  adding, — 

"  You  don't  deny  that  you  were  firing  ?  " 

"  I  fired  as  long  as  I  was  able,"  Domi- 
nique answered  quietly.  , 

This  confession  was  needless,  for  he  was  black 
with  powder,  covered  with  sweat,  spotted  with 
some  drops  of  blood  that  had  run  down  from  the 
scratch  on  his  shoulder. 

—  "  Very  well,"  the  officer  repeated.    "  You 
will  be  shot  in  two  hours." 

Frangoise  did  not  cry  out.  She  clasped  her 
hands  together  and  raised  them  in  a  gesture  of 
mute  despair.  The  officer  noticed  this  gesture. 
Two  soldiers  hSd  led  Dominique  away  into  the 
next  room,  where  they  were  to  keep  him  in  sight. 
The  young  girl  had  dropped  down  upon  a  chair, 
her  legs  giving  way  under  her  ;  she  could  not  cry, 
she  was  choking.  Meanwhile  the  officer  kept 
looking  at  her  closely.  At  last  he  spoke  to 
her. 

"  That  young  man  is  your  brother  ? "  he 

asked. 


58         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

She  shook  her  head.  He  stood  there  stiff, 
without  a  smile.  Then,  after  a  silence, — 

"  He  has  lived  a  long  while  in  these 

parts  ?  " 

She  nodded  yes,  still  dumb. 

"  Then  he  must  know  the  woods  round 

here  very  well  ?  " 

This  time  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  in 

some  surprise. 

He  said  no  more,  and  turned  on  his  heel,  ask- 
ing to  have  the  mayor  of  the  village  brought  to 
him.  But  Franchise  had  risen,  a  faint  blush  on 
her  face,  thinking  to  have  caught  the  drift  of  his 
questions,  and  seeing  fresh  hope  in  them.  It  was 
she  who  ran  to  find  her  father. 

Old  Merlier,  as  soon  as  the  shots  had  ceased, 
had  run  quickly  down  the  wooden  steps  to  look 
at  his  wheel.  He  adored  his  daughter,  he  had  a 
stout  friendship  for  Dominique,  his  intended  son- 
in-law  ;  but;  his  wheel  also  held  a  large  place  in 
his  heart,  r  As  the  two  young  ones,  as  he  called 
them,  had  come  safe  and  sounoTout  of  the  scrim- 
mage, he  thought  of  his  other  love,  and  this  one 
had  suffered  grievously.  And,  bending  over  the 
huge  wooden  carcass,  he  investigated  its  wounds, 
the  picture  of  distress.  Five  paddles  were  in 
splinters,  the  central  framework  was  riddled/'  He 
stuck  his  fingers  into  the  bullet  holes,  to  meas- 
ure their  depth  ;  he  thought  over  how  he  could 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          59 

repair  all  this  damage.  Frangoise  found  him 
already  stopping  up  cracks  with  broken  bits  of 
wood  and  moss. 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  you  are  wanted." 

And  at  last  she  wept,  telling  him  what  she  had 
just  heard.  Old  Merlier  shook  his  head.  You 
didn't  shoot  people  that  way.  He  must  see. 
And  he  went  back  into  the  mill,  with  his  silent, 
pacific  air.  When  the  officer  asked  him  for  vic- 
tuals for  his  men,  he  answered  that  the  people  in 
Rocreuse  were  not  accustomed  to  being  bullied, 
and  that  nothing  would  be  got  from  them  by 
violence.  He  took  everything  upon  himself,  but 
on  the  condition  of  being  allowed  to  act  alone. 
The  officer  showed  signs,  at  first,  of  getting  angry 
at  this  cool  manner ;  then  he  gave  in  to  the  old 
man's  curt  and  businesslike  way  of  talking.  He 
even  called  him  back,  to  ask  him, — 

"  What  do  you  call  those  woods  there, 

opposite  ? "  t 

"  The  Sauval  woods." 

"  And  what  is  their  extent  ?  " 

The  miller  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"I don't  know,"  he  answered. 

And  he  walked  away.  An  hour  later  the  con- 
tributions of  victuals  and  money  required  by  the 
officer  were  in  the  courtyard  of  the  mill.  Night 
was  approaching ;  Frangoise  followed  the  soldiers' 
movements  anxiously.  She  did  not  go  far  from 
the  room  in  which  Dominique  was  shut  up.  At 


60         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

about  seven  she  had  a  poignant  emotion;  she 
saw  the  officer  go  into  the  prisoner's  room,  and, 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  heard  their  voices 
raised.  One  instant,  the  officer  reappeared  on 
the  threshold,  to  give  an  order  in  German,  which 
she  did  not  understand ;  but,  when  twelve  men 
came  and  fell  into  line  in  the  courtyard,  with 
their  muskets,  she  fell  a-trembling,  she  felt  ready 
to  die.  So  it  was  all  over ;  the  execution  was  to 
take  place.  The  twelve  men  waited  there  ten 
minutes.  Dominique's  voice  was  still  raised  in 
a  tone  of  violent  refusal.  At  last  the  officer 
came  out,  slamming  the  door  and  saying, — 

"  Very  well,  think  it  over.  ...  I  give 

you  till  to-morrow  morning.'* 

And,  with  a  motion  of  his  arm,  he  ordered  the 
twelve  men  to  break  ranks.  Frangoise  stayed  on 
in  a  sort  of  stupor.  Old  Merlier,  who  had  not 
stopped  smoking  his  pipe,  while  looking  at  the 
squad  with  an  air  of  simple  curiosity,  came  up 
and  took  her  by  the  arm  with  fatherly  gentleness. 
He  led  her  to  her  room. 

"  Keep  quiet,"  he  said,  "  try  to  sleep.  .  .  . 

To-morrow  it  will  be  daylight,  and  we  will  see." 

When  he  withdrew,  he  locked  her  in,  for  pru- 
dence sake.  It  was  a  principle  of  his  that  women 
were  no  good,  and  that  they  made  a  mess  of  it 
whenever  they  undertook  anything  serious.  But 
Franchise  did  not  go  to  bed ;  she  stayed  a  long 
time  sitting  on  her  bed,  listening  to  the  noises  in 


THE    ATTACK   ON   THE    MILL.  6 1 

the  house.  The  German  soldiers,  encamped  in  the 
courtyard,  were  singing  and  laughing :  they  must 
have  been  eating  and  drinking  up  to  eleven,  for  the 
noise  did  not  stop  for  an  instant.  In  the  mtll 
itself  heavy  steps  sounded  every  now  and  then  ; 
no  doubt,  they  were  relieving  sentries.  But  what 
interested  her,  above  all,  were  noises  that  she 
could  not  make  out,  in  the  room  Binder  hers. 
Several  times  she  lay  down  on  the  ground,  she 
put  her  ear  to  the  floor.  This  room  happened  to 
be  the  one  in  which  Dominique  was  locked  up. 
He  must  have  been  walking  from  the  wall  to  the 
window,  for  she  long  heard  the  regular  cadence 
of  his  steps ;  then  there  was  a  dead  silence,  he 
had  doubtless  sat  down.  Besides,  the  noises 
stopped,  everything  was  hushed  in  sleep.  When 
the  house  seemed  to  her  to  slumber,  she  opened 
the  window  as  softly  as  possible,  and  rested  her 
elbows  on  the  sill. 

Outside,  the  night  was  calm  and  warm.  The 
slender  crescent  moon,  setting  behind  the  Sauval 
woods,  lighted  up  the  country  with  the  glimmer 
of  a  night  taper.  The  elongated  shadows  of  the 
great  trees  barred  the  meadows  with  black,  while 
the  grass,  in  the  unshaded  spots,  put  on  the  soft- 
ness of  greenish  velvet.  But  Franchise  did  not 
stop  to  note  the  mysterious  charm  of  the  night. 
She  examined  the  country,  looking  for  the  sen- 
tinels that  the  Germans  must  have  stationed  on 
one  side.  She  plainly  saw  their  shadows,  ranged 


62          THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

like  the  rungs  of  a  ladder  along  the  Morelle. 
Only  a  single  one  stood  opposite  the  mill,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  near  a  willow  whose 
branches  dipped  into  the  water.  Franchise  saw 
him  distinctly ;  he  was  a  big  fellow,  standmg 
motionless,  his  face  turned  toward  the  sky  with 
the  dreamy  look  of  a  shepherd. 

Then,  when  she  had  carefully  inspected  the 
ground,  she  went  back  and  sat  down  upon  her 
bed.  She  stayed  there  an  hour  deeply  absorbed. 
Then  she  listened  again ;  in  the  house  not  a 
breath  stirred.  She  went  back  to  the  window, 
and  looked  out ;  but,  no  doubt,  she  saw  danger 
in  one  of  the  horns  of  the  moon,  which  still  ap- 
peared behind  the  trees,  for  she  went  back  again 
to  wait,..-  At  last  the  time  seemed  to  have  come. 
The  night  was  quite  dark,  she  no  longer  saw  the 
sentinel  opposite,  the  country  lay  spread  out  like 
a  pool  of  ink.  She  listened  intently  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  made  up  her  mind.  An  iron  ladder 
ran  near  the  window,  some  bars  let  into  the  wall, 
leading  from  the  wheel  up  to  the  loft,  down  which 
the  millers  used  to  climb,  to  get  at  certain  cog- 
wheels ;  then,  when  the  machinery  had  been 
altered,  the  ladder  had  long  since  disappeared 
beneath  the  rank  growj,/!  of  ivy  that  covered  that 
side  of  the  mill. 

Frangoise  bravely  climbed  over  the  balustrade 
of  her  window,  grasped  one  of  the  iron  bars, 
and  found  herself  in  empty  space.  She  began 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.         63 

to  climb  down.  Her  skirts  were  much  in  her 
way.  Suddenly  a  stone  broke  loose  from  the 
masonry,  and  fell  into  the  Morelle  with  a  re- 
sounding splash.  She  stopped,  chilled  with  a 
shudder.  But  she  saw  that  the  waterfall,  with 
its  continuous  roar,  drowned  out  from  afar  any 
noise  she  might  make,  and  she  climbed  down 
more  boldly,  feeling  for  the  ivy  with  her  foot, 
making  sure  of  the  rungs  of  the  ladder./  When 
she  had  got  on  a  level  with  the  room  that  was 
used  as  Dominique's  prison,  she  stopped.  An 
unforeseen  difficulty  nearly  made  her  lose  all 
her  courage  ;  the  window  of  the  room  below  was 
not  cut  regularly  under  the  window  of  her 
chamber ;  it  was  some  way  from  the  ladder,  and, 
when  she  stretched  out  her  hand,  she  felt  only 
the  wall.  Would  she  have  to  climb  up  again, 
without  carrying  her  plan  through  to  the  end,? 
Her  arms  were  getting  tired,  the  murmur  of  the 
Morelle  beneath  her  began  to  make  her  dizzy. 
Then  she  tore  off  little  bits  of  mortar  from  the 
wall,  and  threw  them  against  Dominique's  win- 
dow. He  did  not  hear,  perhaps  he  was  asleep. 
She  broke  off  some  more  pieces  from  the  wall, 
barking  her  fingers.  And  her  strength  was 
giving  out,  she  felt  herself  falling  backwards, 
when  Dominique,  at  last,  softly  opened  his 
window. 

"It's   I,"   she   whispered.      "Take   me 

quick,  I  'm  falling." 


64          THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  tutoyeed  him. 
He  caught  her,  leaning  out,  and  lifted  her  into 
the  room.  There  she  had  a  fit  of  tears  stifling 
her  sobs,  so  as  not  to  be  heard.  Then,  by  a 
supreme  effort,  she  calmed  herself. 

"  You  are  guarded  ? "  she  asked,  in  a 

low  voice. 

Dominique,  still  dumfounded  at  seeing  her 
thus,  made  a  simple  sign,  pointing  to  his  door. 
They  heard  a  snoring  on  the  other  side ;  the 
sentinel  must  have  given  way  to  drowsiness, 
and  lain  down  on  the  ground,  across  the  door- 
way, thinking  that,  in  this  way,  the  prisoner 
could  not  get  out. 

"  You  must  run  away,"  she  went  on  rapid- 
ly. "  I  have  come  to  implore  you  to  run  away, 
and  to  say  good-bye." 

But  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He  kept 
repeating : 

"  How,  it's  you,  it's  you  !  .  .  .  how  you 

frightened  me  !  You  might  have  killed  yourself." 

He  took  her  hands,  he  kissed  them. 

"  How  I  love  you,  Frangoise !  .  .  .  You 

are  as  brave  as  you  are  good.  I  only  had  one  fear, 
that  of  dying  without  seeing  you  once  more.  .  .  . 
But  you  are  here,  and  now  they  can  shoot  me. 
When  I  have  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  you 
I  shall  be  ready." 

Little  by  little  he  had  drawn  her  closer  to 
him,  and  she  rested  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          65 

danger  drew  them  nearer  together.     They 
forgot  all  in  this  embrace. 

"  Ah  !  Franchise,"  Dominique  went  on,  in 

a  caressing  voice,  "  to-day  is  Saint-Louis's  day, 
our  wedding  day,  that  we  have  waited  for  so 
long.  Nothing  has  been  able  to  separate  us, 
since  we  are  here,  all  alone,  faithful  to  our  tryst. 
.  .  .  It's  our  wedding  morning  now,  is  n't  it?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  repeated,  "  our  wedding 

morning." 

They  exchanged  a  kiss,  trembling.  But  of  a 
sudden  she  broke  loose,  the  terrible  reality  rose 
up  before  her. 

"  You  must  run  away,  you  must  run  away," 

she  stammered  out.     "  Let  us  not  lose  a  minute." 

And,  as  he  stretched  out  his  arms  once  more 
to  take  her  in  the  darkness,  she  again  tutoyeed 
him, — 

"  Oh  !  I  beg  you,  listen  to  me.  ...  If  you 

die,  I  shall  die.  In  an  hour  it  will  be  daylight. 
I  wish  you  to  go  at  once." 

Then,  rapidly,  she  explained  her  plan.  The 
iron  ladder  ran  down  to  the  wheel :  there,  he  could 
take  the  paddles  and  get  into  the  boat  which  was 
in  a  recess.  After  that  it  would  be  easy  for  him 
to  reach  the  other  bank  of  the  river  and  escape. 

— —  "  But  there  must  be  sentinels  there  ? "  he 
said. 

"  Only  one,  opposite,  at  the  foot  of  the  first 
willow." 
5 


66         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

"  And  if  he  sees  me,  if  he  tries  calling 

out?" 

Frangoise  shuddered.  She  put  a  knife  she  had 
brought  down  with  her  into  his  hand.  There 
was  a  silence. 

"  And  your  father,  and  you  ?  "  Dominique 

continued.  "  But  no,  I  can't  run  away.  .  .  . 
When  I  am  gone,  maybe  these  soldiers  will 
slaughter  you.  .  .  .  You  don't  know  them. 
They  proposed  to  show  me  mercy,  if  I  would  be 
their  guide  through  the  Sauval  forest.  When 
they  find  me  gone  they  will  stick  at  nothing. " 

The  young  girl  did  not  stop  to  discuss.      She 

simply  answered  all  the  reasons  he  gave  with, — 

-  "  For  the  love  of  me,  fly.   ...  If  you  love 

me,  Dominique,  don't  stay  here  a  minute  longer." 

Then  she  promised  to  climb  back  to  her  room. 
They  would  not  know  that  she  had  helped  him. 
She  at  last  took  him  in  her  arms,  kissed  him  to 
convince  him,  in  an  extraordinary  outburst  of 
passion.  He  was  beaten.  He  asked  not  a  ques- 
tion further. 

u  Swear  to  me  that  your  father  knows  of 

what  you  are  doing,  and  that  he  advises  me  to 
run  away  ? " 

"  It  was  my  father  sent  me,"  Franchise 

answered  boldly. 

She  lied.  At  this  moment  she  felt  nothing  but 
a  boundless  need  of  knowing  him  in  safety,  of 
escaping  from  this  abominable  thought  that  the 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.         6/ 

sun  would  give  the  signal  for  his  death.  When 
he  was  gone,  all  mishaps  might  rush  down  upon 
her ;  it  would  seem  sweet  to  her,  as  long  as  he 
was  alive.  The  selfishness  of  her  love  wished 
him  alive,  before  all  else. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Dominique,  "  I  will  do 

as  you  please." 

Then  they  said  nothing  more.  Dominique 
went  to  open  the  window  again ;  but  suddenly 
a  noise  chilled  their  blood.  The  door  was 
shaken,  and  they  thought  it  was  being  opened. 
Evidently  a  patrol  had  heard  their  voices ;  and 
both  of  them,  standing  pressed  against  each 
other,  waited  in  unspeakable  anguish.  The  door 
was  shaken  again,  but  it  did  not  open.  Each 
gave  a  stifled  sigh ;  they  saw  how  it  was,  it  must 
have  been  the  soldier  lying  across  the  threshold 
turning  over.  And  really,  silence  was  restored, 
the  snoring  began  again. 

Dominique  would  have  it  that  Franchise  must 
first  climb  back  to  her  room.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms ;  he  bade  her  a  mute  farewell.  Then  he 
helped  her  to  seize  the  ladder,  and  grappled  hold 
of  it  in  his  turn.  But  he  refused  to  go  down  a 
single  rung  before  he  knew  she  was  in  her 
room.  When  Fran9oise  had  climbed  in,  she 
whispered,  in  a  voice  light  as  a  breath, — 

"  Au  revoir  ;  I  love  you  !  " 

She  stopped  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the 
window-sill,  and  tried  to  follow  Dominique  with 


68         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

her  eyes.  The  night  was  still  very  dark.  She 
looked  for  the  sentinel,  and  did  not  see  him  ;  only 
the  willow  made  a  pale  spot  in  the  midst  of  the 
darkness.  For  an  instant  she  heard  the  rustling 
of  Dominique's  body  along  the  ivy.  Then  the 
wheel  creaked,  and  there  was  a  gentle  splashing 
that  told  that  the  young  man  had  found  the  boat. 
A  minute  later,  in  fact,  she  made  out  the  dark 
outline  of  the  boat  on  the  gray  sheet  of  the 
Morelle/7  Then  anguish  stopped  her  breath.  At 
every  moment  she  thought  to  hear  the  sentinel's 
cry  of  alarm.  The  faintest  sounds,  scattered 
through  the  darkness,  seemed  to  be  the  hurried 
tread  of  soldiers,  the  clatter  of  arms,  the  click 
of  the  hammers  on  the  rifles.  Yet  seconds 
elapsed,  the  country  slept  on  in  sovereign  peace. 
Dominique  must  have  been  landing  on  the  other 
bank.  Frangoise  saw  nothing  more.  The  still- 
ness was  majestic.  And  she  heard  a  noise  of 
scuffling  feet,  a  hoarse  cry,  the  dull  thud  of  a  fall- 
ing body.  Then  the  silence  grew  deeper  ;  and, 
as  if  she  had  felt  death  passing  by,  she  waited  on, 
all  cold,  face  to  face  with  the  pitch-dark  night. 


IV. 

AT  daybreak,  shouting  voices  shook  the  mill. 
Old  Merlier  had  come  to  open  Franchise's  door. 
She  came  down  into  the  courtyard,  pale  and  very 
calm.  But  there  she  gave  a  shudder  before  the 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          69 

dead  body  of  a  Prussian  soldier,  which  was 
stretched  out  near  the  well,  on  a  cloak  spread  on 
the  ground. 

Around  the  body,  soldiers  were  gesticulating, 
crying  aloud  in  fury.  Many  of  them  sho6k  their 
fists  at  the  village.  Meanwhile,  the  officer  had 
had  old  Merlier  called,  as  mayor  of  the  township. 

"  See  here,''  said  he,  in  a  voice  choking 

with  rage,  "  here's  one  of  our  men  who  has  been 
found  murdered  by  the  river-side.  .  .  .  We  must 
make  a  tremendous  example,  and  I  trust  you  will 
help  us  to  find  out  the  murderer." 

"  Anything  you  please,"  answered  the 

miller  in  his  phlegmatic  way.  "  Only  it  will  not 
be  easy." 

The  officer  had  stooped  down  to  throw  aside  a 
flap  of  the  cloak  that  hid  the  dead  man's  face. 
Then  a  horrible  wound  appeared.  The  sentinel 
had  been  struck  in  the  throat,  and  the  weapon 
was  left  in  the  wound.  It  was  a  kitchen  knife 
with  a  black  handle. 

"  Look  at  this  knife,"  said  the  officer  to  old 

Merlier,  "perhaps  it  may  help  us  in  our  search." 

The  old  man  gave  a  start.  But  he  recovered 
himself  immediately,  and  answered,  without  mov- 
ing a  muscle  of  his  face, — 

"  Everybody  in  these  parts  has  knives  like 

that.  .  .  .  Maybe  your  man  was  tired  of  fighting, 
and  did  the  job  himself.  Such  things  have  been 
known  to  happen." 


7O         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

"  Shut  up  ! "  the  officer  cried  furiously. 

"  I  don't  know  what  keeps  me  from  setting  fire  to 
the  four  corners  of  the  .village." 

His  anger  luckily  prevented  his  noticing  the 
profound  change  that  had  come  over  Franchise's 
face.  She  had  to  sit  down  on  the  stone  bench, 
near  the  well.  In  spite  of  herself  her  eyes  never 
left  that  dead  body,  stretched  on  the  ground  al- 
most at  her  feet.  He  was  a  big,  handsome  fellow, 
who  looked  like  Dominique,  with  light  hair  and 
blue  eyes.  This  resemblance  made  her  heart 
sick.  She  thought  of  how  the  dead  man  had 
perhaps  left  some  sweetheart  behind,  who  would 
weep  for  him  over  there,  in  Germany.  And  she 
recognized  her  knife  in  the  dead  man's  throat. 
She  had  killed  him. 

..  Meanwhile  the  officer  talked  of  taking  terrible 
measures  against  Rocreuse,  when  some  soldiers 
came  up  running.  They  had  only  just  noticed 
Dominique's  escape.  It  occasioned  an  extreme 
agitation.  The  officer  visited  the  premises, 
looked  out  of  the  window,  which  had  been  left 
open,  understood  it  all,  and  came  back  exas- 
perated. 

Old  Merlier  seemed  very  much  put  out  at 
Dominique's  flight. 

"  The  idiot !  "  he  muttered,  "  he  spoils 

it  all." 

Fran£oise,  who  heard  him,  was  seized  with  an- 
guish. For  the  rest,  her  father  did  not  suspect 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.         71 

her  complicity.  He  shook  his  head,  saying  to 
her  in  an  undertone, — 

"  Now  we  are  in  a  fine  scrape  ! " 

"  It  Js  that  rascal !  it 's  that  rascal !  "  cried 

the  officer.  "  He  must  have  reached  the  woods. 
.  .  .  But  he  must  be  found  for  us,  or  the  village 
shall  pay  for  it." 

And,  addressing  the  miller, — 

"  Come,  you  must  know  where  he  is 

hiding  ? " 

Old  Merlier  gave  a  noiseless  chuckle,  pointing 
to  the  wide  extent,  qf  wooded  hillside. 

"  How  do  yoifc^xpect  to  find  a  man  in 

there  ? "  said  he. 

"  Oh  !  there  must  be/  holes  in  there  that 

you  know  of.  I  will  give  you  ten  men.  You  shall 
be  their  guide."  i 

"  All  right.  Only  it  will  take  us  a  week 

to  beat  all  the  woods  in  the  neighborhood." 

The  old  man's  coolness  infuriated  the  officer. 
In  fact,  he  saw  the  ridiculousness  of  this  battue. 
It  was  then  that  he  caught  sight  of  Frangoise, 
pale  and  trembling,  on  the  bench,  The  young 
girl's  anxious  attitude  struck  him.  He  said  noth- 
ing for  an  instant,  looking  hard  at  the  miller  and 
Franchise  by  turns. 

"  Is  n't  this  man,"  he  at  last  brutally  asked 

the  old  man,  "  your  daughter's  lover  ?  " 

Old  Merlier  turned  livid,  and  one  would  have 
thought  him  on  the  point  of  throwing  himself 


72         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

upon  the  officer  and  strangling  him.  He  drew 
himself  up  stiffly ;  he  did  not  answer.  Fran- 
c,oise  put  her  face  between  her  hands. 

"  Yes,   that 's  it,"   the   Prussian  went  on, 

"  you  or  your  daughter  have  helped  him  to  run 
away.  You  are  his  accomplice.  .  .  .  For  the  last 
time,  will  you  give  him  up  to  us  ?  " 

The  miller  did  not  answer,  He  had  turned 
away,  looking  off  into  the  distance,  as  if  the  of- 
ficer had  not  been  speaking  to  him.  This  put 
the  last  touch  to  the  latter's  anger. 

—  "  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  you  shall  be  shot 
instead." 

And  he  once  more  ordered  out  the  firing  party. 
Old  Merlier  still  kept  cool.  He  hardly  gave  a 
slight  shrug  of  his  shoulders  ;  this  whole  drama 
seemed  to  him  in  rather  bad  taste.  No  doubt, 
he  did  not  believe  that  a  man  was  to  be  shot  with 
so  little  ado.  Then,  when  the  squad  had  come, 
he  said  gravely : 

"  You  're  in  earnest,  then  ?  .  .  .  All  right. 

If  you  absolutely  must  have  some  one,  I  will  do 
as  well  as  another." 

But  Fran9oise  sprang  up,  half  crazed,  stam- 
mering out : 

"  Mercy,  monsieur,  don't  do  any  harm  to 

my  father.  Kill  me  instead.  ...  It 's  I  who  helped 
Dominique  to  escape.  I  am  the  only  culprit." 

"  Be  quiet,  little  girl,"  cried  old  Merlier. 

"  What  are  you  lying    for  ?  .  .  ,  She  spent  the 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          73 

night  locked  up  in  her  room,  monsieur.  She 
lies,  I  assure  you." 

"  No,  I  am  not  lying,"  the  young  girl  re- 
plied ardently.  "  I  climbed  down  out  of  the 
window,  I  urged  Dominique  to  fly.  .  .  .  It 's  the 
truth,  the  only  truth.  .  .  ." 

The  old  man  turned  very  pale.  He  saw  clearly 
in  her  eyes  that  she  was  not  lying,  and  this  story 
appalled  him.  Ah !  these  children,  with  their 
hearts,  how  they  spoiled  everything  !  Then  he 
grew  angry. 

"  She  's  crazy,  don't  believe  her.     She  is 

telling  you  stupid  stories.  .  .  .  Come,  let 's  have 
done  with  it." 

She  tried  to  protest  again.  She  knelt  down, 
she  clasped  her  hands.  The  officer  looked 
quietly  on  at  this  heartrending  struggle. 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  said  at  last,  "  I  take 

your  father,  because  I  have  n't  got  the  other  one. 
.  .  .  Try  and  find  the  other  one,  and  your  father 
shall  go  free." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him,  her  eyes 
staring  wide  at  the  atrocity  of  this  proposal. 

-  "  It 's  horrible,"  she  murmured.  "  Where 
do  you  expect  me  to  find  Dominique  at  this 
time  ?  He  's  gone  ;  I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

"  Well,  choose.     Him  or  your  father." 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  how  can  I  choose  ?     But 

even  if  I  knew  where  Dominique  was,  I  could  not 
choose !  ...  It  is  my  heart  you  are  breaking. 


74  THE   ATTACK    ON   THE    MILL 

...  I  had  rather  die  at  once.  Yes,  it  would 
be  soonest  over  so.  Kill  me,  I  beg  of  you,  kill 
me.  .  .  ." 

The  officer  at  last  grew  impatient  at  this  scene 
of  despair  and  tears.  He  cried  out, — 

"  I  Ve  had  enough  of  this !     I  'm  willing 

to  be  good-natured,  I  consent  to  give  you  two 
hours.  ...  If  your  sweetheart  is  n't  here  in  two 
hours,  your  father  shall  pay  for  him." 

And  he  had  old  Merlier  taken  to  the  room 
which  had  been  used  for  Dominique's  prison. 
The  old  man  asked  for  some  tobacco,  and  fell  to 
smoking.  No  emotion  was  to  be  detected  in  his 
impassive  face.  Only,  when  he  was  alone,  two 
big  tears  ran  slowly  down  his  cheeks.  His  poor, 
dear  child  ;  how  she  suffered  ! 

Fran9oise  had  stayecf  in  the  middle  of  the 
courtyard.  Some  Prussian  soldiers  passed  by, 
laughing.  Some  of  them  called  out  to  her,  jokes 
which  she  did  not  understand.  She  stared  at 
the  door  through  which  her  father  had  just  dis- 
appeared. And,  with  a  slow  movement,  she 
raised  her  hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if  to  keep  it 
from  bursting. 

The  officer  turned  on  his  heel,  repeating : 

"  You  have   two   hours.     Try   to   make 

good  use  of  them." 

She  had  two  hours.  This  sentence  kept  buz- 
zing in  her  head.  Then,  mechanically,  she  went 
out  of  the  courtyard,  she  walked  straight  before 


THE  ATTACK  ON  TH£  MILL.          7$ 

her.  Whither  should  she  go  ?  What  should  she 
do  ?  She  did  not  even  try  to  decide,  because 
she  felt  convinced  of  the  uselessness  of  her  efforts. 
Yet  she  would  have  liked  to  find  Dominique. 
They  would  have  come  to  an  understanding  to- 
gether, they  might  perhaps  have  hit  upon  an 
expedient.  And,  amid  the  confusion  of  her 
thoughts,  she  went  down  to  the  bank  of  the 
Morelle,  which  she  crossed  below  the  dam,  at  a 
place  where  there  were  some  large  stones.  Her 
feet  led  her  under  the  first  willow,  at  the  corner 
of  the  field.  As  she  bent  down,  she  saw  a  pool 
of  blood  that  made  her  turn  pale.  That  was 
clearly  the  place.  And  she  followed  Domi- 
nique's tracks  in  the  trodden  grass ;  he  must 
have  run,  a  line  of  long  strides  was  to  be  seen 
cutting  through  the  field  cornerwise.  Then, 
farther  on,  she  lost  the  tracks ;  but,  in  a 
neighboring  field,  she  thought  she  found  them 
again.  This  brought  her  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest,  where  all  traces  were  wiped  out. 

Frangoise  plunged  in  under  the  trees,  notwith- 
standing. It  was  a  relief  to  be  alone.  She  sat 
down  for  a  moment ;  then,  remembering  that 
her  time  was  running  out,  she  got  up  again. 
How  long  was  it  since  she  had  left  the  mill  ? 
Five  minutes?  half  an  hour?  She  had  lost  all 
consciousness  of  time.  Perhaps  Dominique  had 
gone  and  hidden  in  a  copse  she  knew  of,  where, 
one  afternoon,  they  had  eaten  filberts  together. 


THE    ATTACK    ON   THE    MILL. 


* 


She  went  to  the  copse  and  searched  it.  Only  a 
blackbird  flew  out,  whistling  its  soft,  melancholy 
tune.  Then  she  thought  he  had  taken  refuge  in 
a  hollow  in  the  rocks,  where  he  sometimes  used 
to  lie  in  ambush  for  game  ;  but  the  hollow  in  the 
rocks  was  empty.  What  was  the  use  of  looking 
for  him  ?  she  would  not  find  him  ;  and,  little  by 
little,  her  desire  to  find  him  grew  furious,  she 
walked  on  faster.  The  notion  that  he  might 
have  climbed  up  a  tree  suddenly  struck  her. 
From  that  moment  she  pushed  on  with  up- 
turned eyes,  and,  that  he  might  know  she  was 
near,  she  called  out  to  him  every  fifteen  or  twenty 
steps.  The  cuckoos  answered  her,  a  breath  of 
air  passing  through  the  branches  made  her  think 
he  was  there,  and  was  coming  down.  Once  she 
even  thought  she  saw  him  ;  she  stopped,  choking, 
having  a  good  mind  to  run  away.  What  would 
she  say  to  him  ?  Had  she  come,  then,  to  lead 
him  away  and  have  him  shot  ?  Oh  !  no,  she 
would  not  mention  these  things.  She  would  cry 
out  to  him  to  escape,  not  to  stay  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Then  the  thought  of  her  father  waiting 
for  her  gave  her  a  sharp  pang.  She  fell  upon 
the  turf,  weeping,  repeating  aloud,  — 

-  "  My  God  !  my  God  !  why  am  I  here  ?  " 

She   was   crazy    to   have    come.     And,    as  if 

seized  with  fright,  she  ran,  she  tried   to  find  a 

way  out  of  the  forest.     Three  times  she  took  the 

wrong  path,  and  she  thought  she  should  not  find 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          77 

the  mij]  again,  when  she  came  out  into  a  field, 
just  opposite  Rccreuse.  As  soon  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  village,  j^he  stopped.  Was  she  going 
to  return  alone  ?  * 

As  she  stood  there,  a  voice  called  to  her 
softly, — 

' "  FranQoise  !  Francoise  !  " 

And  she  saw  Dominique  raising  his  head 
above  the  edge  of  a  ditch.  Just  God  !  she  had 
found  him  !  So  heaven  wished  his  death  ?  She 
held  back  a  cry,  she  let  herself  slide  down  into 
the  ditch. 

"  You  were  looking  for  me  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  her  head  buzzing, 

not  knowing  what  she  said. 

"  Ah  !  what 's  going  on  ?  " 

She  looked  down,  she  stammered  out, — 

— "  Why,  nothing ;  I  was  anxious,  I  wanted 
to  see  you." 

Then,  reassured,  he  told  her  that  he  had  not 
wished  to  go  far.  He  feared  for  them.  Those 
rascals  of  Prussians  were  just  the  sort  to  wreak 
vengeance  upon  women  and  old  men.  Then 
all  was  going  well ;  and  he  added,  laughing, — 

"  Our  wedding  will  be  for  this  day  week, 

that 's  all." 

Then,  as  she  was  still  overcome,  he  grew 
serious  again. 

"  But  what 's  the  matter  with  you  ?     You 

are  keeping  something  from  me." 


78  THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL. 

"  No,  I  swear  to  you.    I  ran  to  come.  .  .  ." 

He  kissed  her,  saying  that  it  was  imprudent 
for  either  of  them  to  talk  any  longer;  and  he 
wished  to  get  back  to  the  forest.  She  held  him 
back.  She  was  trembling. 

"  Listen,  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  for 

you  to  stay  here,  all  the  same.  .  .  .  Nobody  is 
looking  for  you,  you  're  not  afraid  of  anything." 

"  Franchise,  you  are  keeping  something 

from  me,"  he  repeated. 

Again  she  swore  she  was  keeping  nothing  from 
him.  Only  she  had  rather  know  that  he  was 
near ;  and  she  stammered  out  other  reasons  be- 
sides. She  struck  him  as  acting  so  queerly,  that 
now  he  himself  would  not  have  been  willing  to 
leave  her.  Besides,  he  believed  the  French 
would  return.  Troops  had  been  seen  over  Sauval 
way. 

"  Ah  !  let  them  be  in  a  hurry,  let  them  be 

here  as  soon  as  possible ! "  he  muttered  fer- 
vently. 

At  this  moment  the  Rocreuse  church  clock 
struck  eleven.  The  strokes  came  clear  and  dis- 
tinct. She  sprang  up  in  fright ;  it  was  two  hours 
since  she  had  left  the  mill. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  rapidly,  "  if  we  should 

need  you,  I  will  go  up  to  my  room  and  wave  my 
handkerchief." 

And  she  left  him,  running,  while  Dominique, 
very  anxious,  stretched  himself  out  on  the  edge 


THE   ATTACK   ON   THE    MILL  79 

of  the  ditch,  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  mill.  As 
she  was  just  turning  into  Rocreuse,  Franchise 
met  an  old  beggar,  old  Bpntemps,  who  knew  the 
whole  country.  He  bowed  to  her,  he  had  just 
seen  the  miller  in  the  midst  of  the  Prussians ; 
then,  crossing  himself  and  mumbling  some  dis-f 
connected  words,  he  went  on  his  way. 

"  The  two  hours  are  over,"  said  the  officer 

when  Frangoise  appeared. 

Old  Merlier  was  there,  sitting  on  the  bench  by 
the  well.  He  was  still  smoking.  The  young 
girl  once  more  implored,  wept,  fell  upon  her 
knees.  She  wished  to  gain  time.  The  hope  of 
seeing  the  French  return  had  grown  in  her,  and, 
while  bewailing  her  fate,  she  thought  she  heard 
the  measured  tread  of  an  army.  Oh !  if  they 
had  come,  if  they  had  delivered  them  all ! 

-, "  Listen,  monsieur,   one  hour,  one  hour 

more.  .  .  .  You  can  surely  grant  me  one  hour!  " 

But  the  officer  was  still  inflexible.  He  even 
ordered  two  men  to  take  her  in  charge  and  lead 
her  away,  that  they  might  proceed  quietly  with 
the  old  man's  execution.  Then  a  frightful  con- 
flict went  on  in  Franchise's  heart.  She  could 
not  let  her  father  be  thus  murdered.  No,  no, 
she  would  die  with  Dominique  first ;  and  she  was 
bounding  toward  her  room,  when  Dominique  him- 
self walked  into  the  courtyard. 

The  officer  and  soldiers  gave  a  shout  of 
triumph.  But  he,  as  if  no  one  but  Frangoise  had 


80         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

been  there,  stepped  up  to  her  quietly,  a  little 
sternly. 

"That  was    wrong,"    said    he.      "Why 

did  n't  you  bring  me  back  with  you  ?  Old  Bon- 
temps  had  to  tell  me  everything.  .  .  .  After  all, 
here  I  am." 


V. 

IT  was  three  o'clock.  Great  black  clouds  had 
slowly  filled  the  sky,  the  tail  of  some  not  distant 
thunderstorm.  This  yellow  sky,  these  copper- 
colored  rags,  changed  the  valley  of  Rocreuse, 
so  cheerful  in  the  sunshine,  to  a  cut-throat  den, 
full  of  suspicious  shadows.  The  Prussian  officer 
had  been  content  to  have  Dominique  locked  up, 
without  saying  anything  about  what  fate  he  had 
in  store  for  him.  Ever  since  noon,  Franchise 
had  been  a  prey  to  abominable  anguish.  She 
would  not  leave  the  courtyard,  in  spite  of  her 
father's  urging.  She  was  waiting  for  the  French. 
But  the  hours  passed  by,  night  was  at  hand,  and 
she  suffered  the  more  keenly  that  all  this  time 
gained  did  not  seem  likely  to  change  the  fright- 
ful catastrophe. 

Nevertheless,  at  about  three,  the  Prussians 
made  preparations  to  go.  A  minute  before,  the 
officer  had  closeted  himself  with  Dominique,  as 
on  the  preceding  day.  Frangoise  saw  that  the 
young  man's  life  was  being  decided  on.  Then 


THE    ATTACK    ON    THE    MILL.  8 1 

she  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed.  Old  Mer- 
lier,  beside  her,  maintained  his  mute  and  rigid 
attitude  of  an  old  peasant  who  does  not  struggle 
with  the  fatality  of  facts. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !  oh,  my  God  !  "  stammered 

Franchise,  "  they  are  going  to  kill  him." 

The  miller  drew  her  close  to  him  and  took  her 
upon  his  knees,  like  a  child. 

Just  then  the  officer  came  out,  while,  behind 
him,  two  men  led  Dominique. 

"  Never,  never  !  "  cried  the  latter.  "  I 

am  ready  to  die." 

"  Think  of  it  well,"  replied  the  officer. 

"  This  service  that  you  refuse  us  will  be  done  for 
us  by  another.  I  offer  you  your  life,  I  am  gener- 
ous. ...  It  is  only  to  be  our  guide  to  Montre- 
don,  through  the  woods.  There  must  be  paths." 

Dominique  made  no  answer. 

"  Then  you  are  still  obstinate  ?  " 

"  Kill  me,  and  let  us  have  done  with  it," 

he  answered. 

Fran9oise,  with  hands  clasped,  implored  him 
from  across  the  yard.  She  had  forgotten  all, 
she  would  have  urged  him  to  some  piece  of 
cowardice.  But  old  Merlier  grasped  her  hands, 
that  the  Prussians  might  not  see  her  delirious 
gesture. 

"  He  is  right,"  he  murmured,  "it 's  bet- 
ter to  die." 

The  firing  party  was  there.  The  officer  was 
6 


82         THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL. 

waiting  for  a  moment  of  weakness  on  Domi- 
nique's part.  He  still  counted  on  winning  him 
over.  There  was  a  dead  silence.  From  the  dis- 
tance were  heard  violent  claps  of  thunder.  A 
sultry  heat  weighed  upon  the  country ;  and,  in 
the  midst  of  this  silence,  a  shriek  burst  forth, — 

«  The  French  !  the  French  !  " 

It  was  really  they.  On  the  Sauval  road,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  wood,  you  could  make  out 
the  line  of  red  trousers.  Inside  the  mill  there 
was  an  extraordinary  hubbub.  The  Prussian 
soldiers  ran  about  with  guttural  exclamations. 
For  the  rest,  not  a  shot  had  been  fired  yet. 

-  "  The  French  !  the  French  !  "  screamed 
Franchise,  clapping  her  hands. 

She  was  like  mad.  She  had  broken  loose  from 
her  father's  embrace,  and  she  laughed,  her  arms 
waving  in  the  air.  At  last  they  were  coming 
and  they  had  come  in  time,  since  Dominique  was 
still  there,  erect ! 

A  terrible  firing  that  burst  upon  her  ears  like 
a  thunder-stroke  made  her  turn  round.  The 
officer  had  just  muttered  : 

"  First  of  all,  let  us  finish  this  job." 

And,  pushing  Dominique  up  against  the  wall 
of  a  shed  with  his  own  hands,  he  had  ordered, 
"  Fire  !  "  When  Frangoise  turned  round,  Domi- 
nique was  lying  on  the  ground,  his  breast  pierced 
with  twelve  bullets. 

She  did  not  weep ;  she  stood  there  in  a  stupor. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  MILL.          83 

Her  eyes  were  fixed,  and  she  went  and  sat  down 
under  the  shed,  a  few  steps  from  the  body.  She 
looked  at  it ;  at  moments  she  made  a  vague  and 
childlike  movement  with  her  hand.  The  Prus- 
sians had  laid  hold  of  old  Merlier  as  a  hostage. 

It  was  a  fine  fight.  Rapidly  the  officer  sta- 
tioned his  men,  recognizing  that  he  could  not 
beat  a  retreat  without  being  overpowered.  It 
was  as  well  to  sell  his  life  dearly.  Now  it  was 
the  Prussians  who  defended  the  mill  and  the 
French  that  made  the  attack.  The  firing  began 
with  unheard-of  violence.  For  half  an  hour  it 
did  not  stop.  Then  a  dull  explosion  was  heard, 
and  a  shot  broke  off  one  of  the  main  branches 
of  the  hundred-year-old  elm.  The  French  had 
cannon.  A  battery,  drawn  up  just  above  the 
ditch  in  which  Dominique  had  hidden,  swept  the 
main  street  of  Rocreuse.  From  this  moment 
the  struggle  could  not  last  long. 

Ah !  the  poor  mill !  Shot  pierced  it  through 
and  through.  Half  the  roofing  was  carried 
away.  Two  walls  crumbled.  But  it  was,  above 
all,  on  the  side  toward  the  Morelle  that  the  ruin 
done  was  piteous.  The  ivy,  torn  from  the  shat- 
tered walls,  hung  in  rags ;  the  river  swept  away 
debris  of  every  sort,  and  through  a  breach  you 
could  see  Frangoise's  room,  with  her  bed,  the 
white  curtains  of  which  were  carefully  drawn. 
Shot  upon  shot,  the  old  wheel  received  two  can- 
non-balls, and  gave  one  last  groan  :  the  paddles 


84  THE    ATTACK    ON   THE    MILL. 

were  washed  away  by  the  current,  the  carcass 
collapsed.  The  mill  had  breathed  out  its  soul. 

Then  the  French  stormed  the  place.  There 
was  a  furious  fight  with  side-arms.  Beneath  the 
rust-colored  sky,  the  cutthroat  hollow  of  the  val- 
ley was  filled  with  killed.  The  broad  meadows 
looked  grim,  with  their  great  single  trees,  their 
rows  of  poplars  streaking  them  with  shadows. 
To  the  right  and  left,  the  forests  were  like  the 
walls  of  a  circus,  shutting  in  the  combatants ; 
while  the  springs,  the  fountains,  the  running 
waters,  gave  forth  sounds  of  sobbing,  amid  the 
panic  of  the  countryside. 

Under  the  shed,  Franchise  had  not  stirred, 
crouched  down  opposite  Dominique's  body. 
Old  Merlier  was  killed  outright  by  a  spent  bullet. 
Then,  when  the  Prussians  had  been  annihilated, 
and  the  mill  was  burning,  the  French  captain  was 
the  first  man  to  enter  the  courtyard.  From  the 
beginning  of  the  campaign  it  was  the  only  suc- 
cess he  had  won.  And,  all  aglow,  drawing  up 
his  tall  figure  to  its  full  height,  he  laughed  with 
his  gracious  air  of  a  fine  cavalier.  And,  seeing 
Franchise,  imbecile,  between  the  dead  bodies  of 
her  husband  and  father,  amidst  the  smoking 
ruins  of  the  mill,  he  gallantly  saluted  her  with 
his  sword,  crying  out : 

"  Victory  1  victory  I  * 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD 

BY 

EMILE  SOUVESTRE 


From  "  Tales  of  Brittany  and  La  Vendee." 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD 

BY    EMILE   SOUVESTRE 

THE  Bay  of  Douarnenez,  inclosed  as  it  is 
by  the  two  rocky  peninsulas  of  Kelerne 
and  Crozon,  which  leave  only  a  narrow  passage 
out  into  the  open  sea,  belongs  to  those  portions 
of  the  coast  of  Brittany  which  make  the  deepest 
impression  upon  a  traveller  possessed  of  taste 
and  sympathy  for  such  scenery.  Its  charm  does 
not,  however,  consist  in  what  is  generally  called 
the  beautiful,  or  the  romantic.  There  are  along 
this  coast  many  wilder,  sublimer,  more  romantic, 
and  more  beautiful  points.  But  that  which  ex- 
ercises so  peculiar  an  influence  here  is  doubtless 
the  complete  unity  of  style,  if  one  may  use  such 
an  expression,  the  harmony  of  the  whole,  and  of 
every  detail,  down  to  the  very  moss  which  hangs 
from  the  rocks,  partaking,  as  they  all  do,  of  one 
and  the  same  grave,  severe,  gloomy,  and  mys- 
terious character.  Yet  this  coast-scene  is  pre- 
served from  a  dull  monotony  by  the  exquisitely 
blue  waters  of  the  bay,  which,  though  protected 
indeed  from  the  mighty  waves  that  break  upon 


88  THE   VIRGIN'S    GOD-CHILD. 

the  rocky  promontories  outside,  yet  not  only  curls 
beneath  the  breath  of  the  almost  spent  wind,  and 
shares  the  great  pulsations  of  ocean  in  its  ebb 
and  flow,  but  is  still  further  animated  by,  as  it 
were,  a  ceaseless  breathing,  or,  in  other  words,  a 
peculiar,  mysterious,  perfectly  regular,  and  low- 
murmuring  swelling  and  subsiding  of  its  waters. 
Whatever  explanation  may  be  afforded  by  natural 
causes  dependent  upon  the  formation  of  the 
shore,  it  is  certain  that  the  people  connect  this 
phenomenon  with  the  tradition,  according  to 
which  the  old  Armorican  King  Grallon  still  dwells 
in  his  glorious  magic  city,  deep  down  under  the 
surface  of  the  bay. 

After  a  long  absence  I  revisited  this  country 
a  few  years  ago,  to  recover  from  the  effects  of 
the  marrow  and  bone,  the  soul  and  spirit  con- 
suming business  of  the  metropolis.  I  had  wan- 
dered away  to  the  northern  tongue  of  land,  my 
whole  being  open  to  the  impressions  conveyed 
by  its  scenery,  and  to  the  influence  of  the 
strengthening  sea  breeze  which  blew  over  me 
from  both  sides,  to  the  left  from  the  bay,  to  the 
right  from  the  open  sea.  Opposite  Rostudel, 
not  far  from  the  hamlet  of  Kerkolleorch,  I  ob- 
served, on  my  left,  a  little  green  dingle  which 
opened  out  between  gray  masses  of  rocks,  and 
led  down  to  the  shore  of  the  bay.  Below  me,  the 
little  brook  which  had  given  rise  to  a  kindly 
vegetation  around — to  grass,  bushes,  and  some 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  89 

low  trees — had  been,  by  the  help  of  a  few  rough, 
upright  stones,  converted  into  a  well  that  a  few 
willows  shaded  over. 

A  young  peasant  girl  sat  on  a  stone  near  this 
well,  her  arm  resting  upon  one  of  the  large  red 
earthern  jugs  which  are  universally  used  in  these 
parts,  and  have  from  time  immemorial  been 
brought  over  from  the  opposite  coast  of  Corn- 
wall, which  was  once  inhabited  by  a  kindred 
race.  I  stepped  towards  her  ;  for  even  at  a  dis- 
tance I  was  attracted  by  the  peculiar  and  sur- 
prising charm  of  such  an  apparition  in  this  lonely 
and  savage  spot.  She  was  of  a  remarkably 
pure  and  touching  order  of  beauty,  and  the  sim- 
ple costume  of  the  district,  poor  but  delicately 
clean,  the  blue  gown  with  a  broad  red  border, 
the  brown  kerchief  around  the  head,  and  which 
fell  over  her  shoulders  and  bosom  like  a  pair  of 
wings,  the  small  bare  feet,  the  round  arm  leaning 
on  the  red  pitcher — all  formed  an  unspeakably 
charming  tout  ensemble.  She  greeted  me  in  the 
dialect  of  the  country,  with  so  gentle  a  voice, 
and  such  a  frank,  friendly  glance  and  nod,  that 
I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  become 
somewhat  better  acquainted  with  her,  which 
would,  I  knew,  in  all  probability  be  the  result  of 
a  little  conversation.  As  I  approached,  return- 
ing her  greeting,  and  wiping  away  the  drops  that 
stood  on  my  brow,  she  praised  the  water  of  the 
well,  and  offered  me  some  to  drink ;  and  upon 


£o  THE  VIRGINS  GOD-CHILD. 

my  making  a  sign  of  assent,  she  rose,  and,  with 
fascinating  grace  and  alacrity,  raised  the  pitcher 
to  my  lips.  While  I  drained  long  draughts  of 
the  pure  stream,  she  held  the  heavy  pitcher  and 
looked  at  me  with  a  smile. 

As,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country, 
I  thanked  her  by  bidding  God  bless  her,  and  was 
about  to  enter  into  conversation,  a  harsh  voice 
broke  in  : 

"  The  Holy  Trinity  protect  us  !  Can  it  be 
Dinorah,  who,  on  the  open  heath,  sets  up  a 
liquor-shop  for  the  townsfolk  ?  " 

I  looked  round,  and  saw  a  miller  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, whom  I  knew  by  sight,  sitting  upon  his 
sacks,  which  a  strong  horse  carried  without  diffi- 
culty together  with  his  master,  and  on  his  way 
apparently  to  one  hamlet  after  another.  Under 
other  circumstances  he  would  have  been  a  wel- 
come companion  to  me,  for  he  knew  the  country 
and  its  inhabitants  intimately,  and,  apart  from 
his  self-satisfied,  levelling,  liberal  views,  and  the 
spirit  of  contradiction  which  he  caught  from  his 
newspapers — apart,  I  say,  from  this,  and  an  utter 
absence  of  all  feeling  for  what  was  deepest,  ten- 
derest,  and  most  earnest  in  the  heart  of  the  peo- 
ple, he  was  by  no  means  a  bad  sort  of  man,  nay, 
for  every-day  life,  he  might  be  called  a  cheerful 
and  useful  companion. 

At  this  moment,  however,  his  appearance,  and 
the  antagonism  between  him  and  such  a  creature 


THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD.  91 

as  Dinorah,  as  well  as  his  discordance  with  the 
place,  and  with  all  that  united  to  form  the  mood 
which  he  disturbed,  were  extremely  unwelcome 
to  me.  Half  offended,  half  embarrassed,  I  was 
silent,  and  turned  away,  that  I  might  not  be 
tempted  to  say  anything  rude  to  him.  But  Din- 
orah did  not  long  owe  him  an  answer. 

"  Go  your  ways  elsewhere,  Guiller  Three- 
Tongues^  cried  she,  with  a  gay  and  uncon- 
strained laugh.  "  You  are  well  entitled  to  the 
nickname  else  you  never  could  speak  so  much 
arrant  nonsense." 

"  Come,  come,  girl,  give  me  at  least  a  drink  as 
well,"  said  he  conciliatingly,  while  he  saluted  me 
very  politely — for  he  knew  me  at  once,  in  spite 
of  my  turning  away. 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  replied  she  tartly.  "  This  is 
only  spring-water  for  good  Christians ;  such  as 
you  w&ni.  fire-water,  and  that  I  do  not  sell ;  so  go 
your  ways." 

"  My  time  is  thine,  child ;  for  it  so  happens 
that  I  am  taking  this  flour  to  Kerkolleorch." 

"  Except  that  portion  of  it  which  remains  be- 
hind sticking  to  the  mill-stones — is  it  not  so, 
Guiller?" 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  allusion  to 
the  well-known  foible  of  the  miller,  or  rather  at 
the  droll,  pert  way  in  which  the  girl  brought  it 
out ;  but  the  miller  turned  to  me,  and  said,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders : 


92  THE    VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD. 

"  Monsieur,  then,  understands  the  gour  Ian 
chenn  (the  bad  tongue)  already.  But  who  ever 
would  believe  it  of  a  little  saint  that  she  could 
be  so  sharp  ?  I  have  seen  her  when  she  was  not 
higher  than  her  pitcher — when  she  could  not  even 
call  me  by  my  name,  and  now  I  can  get  on  less 
well  with  her  than  if  she  were  an  advocate.  That 
shows  plainly  enough  that  when  God  took  the 
tongue  from  the  serpent  He  gave  it  to  the  woman. 
I  should  like  to  know  if  she  serves  Bauzec  the 
Black  in  the  same  way  when  he  passes  by  her 
door." 

The  miller  had  evidently  touched  his  fair  op- 
ponent on  a  tender  point.  At  all  events  she  was 
silent,  blushed  perceptibly,  and  pulled  her  head- 
gear about  with  some  embarrassment.  But  when 
he  tried  to  follow  up  his  advantage,  she  soon 
found  her  tongue  again,  and  some  light-hearted 
and  harmless  bantering  was  carried  on  between 
them  for  some  time  longer. 

At  last,  he  replied  to  the  reproach  of  not  know- 
ing how  to  prevent  his  three  tongues  from  con- 
tradicting each  other,  by  an  allusion  that  I  did 
not  understand,  and  which  soon  put  an  end  to 
all  jesting  on  the  part  of  Dinorah. 

"  Well,"  cried  he,  "  we  can't  all  be  the  blessed 
Virgin's  god-children — that  is  only  the  lot  of 
such  little  saints  as  Dinorah." 

"  Do  not  mock  at  holy  things,  Guiller,"  said 
she,  with  a  sudden  earnestness  of  voice,  look, 


/.   '* 

THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  93 

•t 

i#nd  gesture,  while  raising  her  pitcher  to  her  head, 

"   and  preparing  to  go  away. 

"  Old  William  *  may  burn  me  black,"  replied 
'he,  "if  I  meant  to  mock.     Every  child  in  the 

f  -district  knows  the  story,  and  if  the  gentleman  has 

\   not  heard  it  already,  I  will  tell  it  him  now. 

"  You  must  know  that  the  little  Dinorah  was 
jjust  born,  and  was  to  be,  as  is  right  and  proper, 
baptized  as  soon  as  possible.  All  were  assem- 
bled in  the  church,  and  quite  ready.  The  sexton 
tad  brought  the  shell  with  the  salt  in  it — the 
priest  had  put  on  his  stole  ;  they  were  only  wait- 
ing for  one  of  the  godmothers.  At  that  moment 

•  came  a  messenger  out  of  breath  to  say  that  she 
had  suddenly  dropped  down  dead.  You  may 
imagine  the  confusion  and  distress.  It  would 
never  do  to  take  the  first  come  for  the  god- 
mother of  such  a  jewel  of  a  child,  and  in  short 

'  she  was  very  near  being  carried  out  of  the  church 
unbaptized,  home.  At  that  moment,  out  of  the 
Chapel  of  the  Holy  Virgin  Mary,  which  stands 
on  one  side  of  the  choir,  there  came  a  wonder- 
fully beautiful  lady,  dressed  in  silk  and  lace,  and 
offered  to  hold  the  child  for  baptism.  The  priest 
had  nothing  to  say  against  it,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  party  assembled  held  their  breath  at  the 
apparition ;  and  before  they  rightly  knew  what 

*  This  is  the  title  given  by  the  peasants  of  Brittany  to 
the  devil — perhaps  from  a  forgotten  play  upon  the  name 
of  William  the  Conqueror. 


94  THE   VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD. 

had  happened  to  them,  our  little  Dinorah  was 
baptized,  and  the  apparition  had  vanished  again 
into  the  chapel.  But  pray,  sir,  do  not  thmk  of 
disputing  with  Dinorah  here,  or  with  any  of  the 
good  folk  of  this  province,  as  to  whether  it  really 
was  the  Blessed  Virgin,  or  a  distinguished  lady 
'from  Paris,  who  was  sketching  at  that  time  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  hunting  out  cromlechs  and 
other  antiquities  and  curiosities.  So  now  you  see 
it  was  no  bad  joke  of  mine,  but  that  it  is  in  good, 
downright  earnest  that  we  call  Dinorah  the  little 
saint,  and  the  Virgin's  god-daughter  !  " 

I  looked  inquiringly  at  Dinorah,  who  replied, 
half  in  anger  and  half  in  embarrassment  : 

"  Guiller  can  lie,  even  while  telling  the  truth  ; 
but,  however,  no  one  can  alter  what  God  willed 
should  happen.  The  dog  may  bark  at  the  moon, 
indeed ;  but  the  moon  does  not,  on  that  account, 
fall  from  the  sky." 

So  saying,  she  went  away  with  a  quick  step, 
and  soon  disappeared  behind  the  rocks. 

We  took  the  same  way  more  slowly.  The  mil- 
ler went  on  rattling  for  some  time,  but  I  did  not 
heed  him.  The  little  legend  I  had  just  heard 
had  in  no  way  diminished  my  interest  in  Dinorah. 
I  knew  well  that  the  people  in  Brittany  are  always 
pleased  with  stories  of  some  wonderful  distinction 
paid  to  one  or  other  of  themselves  by  the  Lord  of 
Heaven,  or  by  some  of  His  saints.  Such  highly 
favored  ones  are  objects  of  pride  to  a  whole 


THE    VIRGIN  S    GOOD-CHILD.  95 

district.  I  had  already  heard  of  the  widow  ot  a 
baker  of  St.  Mathieu,  whose  dough  had  been 
kneaded  by  the  archangel  Gabriel ;  and  of  Lotsen 
of  Batz,  to  whom  the  Saviour  Himself  had  taught 
certain  words  which  had  the  power  of  guiding  a 
ship  safely  over  the  most  perilous  seas,  and  had 
never  yet  seen  one  of  these  distinguished  individ- 
uals. Here,  however,  was  a  maiden  who  was 
evidently  fully  persuaded  that  she  stood  in  a 
peculiar  relation  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  No 
one  who  saw  her  could  doubt  the  genuineness  of 
such  belief  on  her  part ;  nay,  this  story  alone  gave 
the  key  to  her  peculiar  bearing — at  once  lively 
and  dignified,  modest,  retiring,  mysterious,  and 
yet  firm,  self-possessed,  and  even  daring  as  it  was. 
Moreover — as  Guiller  confessed  cordially  enough, 
when  he  found  that  his  light  talk  found  no  re- 
sponse in  me — though  Dinorah  was  certainly 
rather  too  proud  of  her  exalted  sponsor,  she  did 
her  credit  by  being  the  most  pious,  most  honor- 
able, and,  in  short,  the  best  girl  in  all  the  country 
far  and  near  ;  and  if  all  saints  were  like  her,  added 
he,  he  would  himself  think  seriously  about  being 
converted  and  trying  to  get  to  heaven. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  reached  one  of  those 
cottages  standing  close  by  the  shore,  where  the 
so-called  Gabariers  were  wont  to  live,  that  they 
might  collect  tang,  fine  sand,  and  other  produc- 
tions or  refuse  of  the  sea,  which  they  sold  to 
potash  and  glass  manufacturers,  in  order  to  eke 


96  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILI>. 

out  by  these  small  earnings  the  fishing  which  was 
their  special  vocation.  But  this  cottage  of  which 
I  speak  was  in  far  better  order  than  the  general- 
ity. It  was  built  of  granite  blocks,  pretty  regu- 
larly arranged,  and  roofed  with  large  slates.  Its 
situation  was  sheltered,  standing  as  it  did  at  the 
opening  of  a  little  hollow  in  the  steep  banks  which 
rose  from  behind  it,  leaving  room  for  a  little  bit 
of  garden,  where  herbs  and  a  few  flowers,  pro- 
tected by  a  green  hedge,  seemed  to  flourish  very 
well.  A  deep  curve  of  the  shore  reached  to  a  few 
steps  of  the  cottage  door.  The  little  waves, 
sparkling  in  the  evening  sun,  lifted  in  their  play 
a  neat  boat  on  to  the  snow-white  sand  of  the 
beach,  which  was  diversified  here  and  there  by 
gay  shells.  Nets  were  hanging  up  to  dry  upon  a 
neighboring  rock. 

Guiller  observed  to  me  : 

"  That 's  the  home  of  Dinorah's  father,  old  Sa- 
laun.  And  there  lies  the  old  man  himself,"  con-' 
tinned  he,  laughing,  as  he  pointed  out  a  man 
asleep  in  the  shadow  of  a  rock,  "  and  repeats  the 
paternoster  of  St.  Do-nothing.  These  people 
live  as  they  used  to  do  in  Paradise.  The  sea 
brings  them  all  they  want  while  they  sleep,  and 
they  have  only  got  to  stretch  their  hand  out  to 
take  it  in.  No  doubt  he  is  dreaming  at  this  mo- 
ment of  the  great  lobster  with  pearl  eyes,  and  ot 
the  bank  with  silver  anchovies  ;  and  he  is  ready 
to  sell  his  soul  to  Satan  if  he  will  but  get  him  a 


THE   VIRGIN  S   GOD-CHILD.  97 

net  made  of  sand,  with  which  to  fish  out  all  these 
marvels  from  the  depths  of  the  Bay  of  Douarne- 
nez.  I  will  waken  him  just  in  time  to  prevent 
the  bargain  being  struck." 

He  did  this  in  rather  a  summary  manner ;  and 
after  a  few  jokes,  both  men  began  to  unlade  the 
sacks  of  flour  which  the  miller  had  brought. 
During  this  process  I  engaged  the  Gabarier  to 
take  me  in  his  boat,  at  the  next  ebb  of  the  tide, 
to  the  cave  of  Morgate,  which  was  opposite,  at 
the  very  extremity  of  the  southern  point.  To 
while  away  the  short  intervening  time,  I  ascended 
the  banks  behind  the  cottage,  and  delighted  my- 
self with  the  glorious  scene  presented  by  the  bay : 
its  rocky  shores,  the  wide  sea  beyond,  the  prom- 
ontories and  fissures  far  and  near,  the  hundred 
sails  of  small  and  large  vessels  traversing  the  blue 
expanse  in  every  direction  ;  and  all  this  brightly 
lighted  up  by  the  sun,  which  already  neared  the 
misty  horizon. 

I  was  roused  out  of  the  dreamy  condition  into 
which  the  scene  had  plunged  me  by  the  noise 
that  the  fisherman  and  miller  made  in  shut- 
ting the  cottage-door  after  they  had  finished  their 
task.  I  had  begun  to  descend,  but  involun- 
tarily stood  still  as  I  saw  Dinorah  come  out  of 
the  cottage.  She  had  placed  her  distaff  on  her 
hip,  and  as  she  went  along  she  whirled  the  spindle 
with  great  speed  and  accuracy.  In  the  other 
hand,  she  held  up  her  apron,  in  which  she  seemed 
7 


00  THE    VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD. 

to  be  carl  ying  something  or  other.  She  came  up 
th&  cliff  near  to  where  I  was  standing,  behind  a 
projection  of  rock,  and  then  stood  still,  a  few 
steps  below  me.  She  looked  round  on  every  side, 
raised  her  hand  to  the  four  points  of  the  compass 
successively,  while  she  pronounced  two  or  three 
words  vhich  I  did  not  understand.  She  was  in- 
stantly answered  by  a  loud  chirping  from  the  low 
bushe?  around,  and  from  every  side  different 
kinds  of  birds — bulfinches,  robin-redbreasts, 
hedge-sparrows,  titmice,  and  many  more — flew 
down  to  pick  up  the  food  she  had  brought  them 
in  her  apron,  and  which  she  now  carefully  and 
lovingly  distributed  in  little  handfuls,  while,  in 
an  undertone,  she  sang  to  herself  in  a  strange 
sort  of  way. 

It  was  a  lovely  picture,  seen  thus  in  the  red 
glow  of  evening ;  and  the  pure  outline  of  her  face, 
with  its  rich  waves  of  golden  hair  around,  would 
certainly  have  afforded  to  a  painter  a  most  ad- 
mirable study  for  the  head  of  a  saint. 

At  length  I  approached,  but  she  beckoned  me/( 
away,  without,  however,  evincing  the   least  sur- 
prise or  embarrassment. 

"  If  monsieur  comes  nearer,  all  my  little  birdies 
will  fly  away,  and  they  are  not  half  satisfied," 
said  she  in  a  whisper,  that  her /r<?/<%£r  might  not 
be  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  a  strange  language. 

However,  at  that  moment  both  the  men  came 
noisily  out  of  the  cottage,  and  the  little  birds  dis- 


THE   VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD.  99 

persed  on  every  side,  with  a  loud  twittering,  ex- 
pressive of  their  alarm  and  displeasure. 

So  Dinorah,  after  having  called  out  a  few 
quieting  and  sympathizing  words  after  them, 
found  herself  obliged  to  speak  to  me.  In  answer 
to  my  question,  by  what  means  she  had  contrived 
thus  to  tame  such  shy  little  creatures,  she  looked 
at  me  in  astonishment,  and  said  : 

"Why,  by  the  same  that  attracts  all  God's 
creatures — by  love  ;  by  showing  them  that  one 
is  fond  of  them.  In  winter,  when  they  cannot 
find  food  for  themselves,  I  strew  it  for  them 
before  our  door,  and  in  summer  they  know  me 
again." 

As  she  spoke,  we  reached  the  cottage,  and  the 
miller  could  not  refrain  from  teasing  her  a  little 
more. 

"  The  little  saint  has  again  given  alms  to  the 
beggars  of  the  air.  No  doubt  she  expects  to 
find  one  or  other  amongst  them  who  will  bring 
her  tidings  from  her  high  and  holy  godmother." 

Dinorah  went  into  the  house,  silent,  and  evi- 
dently offended  ;  but  old  Salaun  said  gravely  : 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  If  our  fathers  have  not 
deceived  us,  there  are  birds  who  know  the  way 
to  the  upper  sea,  and  can,  no  doubt,  carry  a  mes- 
sage to  the  blest  in  Paradise." 

"Well,  all  I  know,"  replied  the  miller,  "  is  that 
it  is  just  the  contrary  with  my  horse  and  me. 
We  have  to  find  our  way  to  one  who  comes  much 


IOO  THE    VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD. 

nearer  to  the  lost  in  hell.  Or  has  the  devil  at  last 
hunted  down  his  ^rey—Judock  Shipwreck  of  the 
havens' Cliff?" 

Salaun,  it  was  plain,  wished  to  avoid  giving  an 
answer,  and  went  accordingly  towards  the  boat, 
remarking  that  it  was  high  time  to  think  of  our 
expedition.  But  the  name  vijudock  happened 
to  recall  to  my  mind,  though  indistinctly,  certain 
criminal  prosecutions  in  which  I  had  been  en- 
gaged. And  upon  inquiry  the  miller  convinced 
me  that  it  was  indeed  this  very  man  who  had 
been  brought  before  the  Court  at  Brest  several 
years  before,  charged  with  heavy  crimes,  but  who 
had  been  acquitted,  contrary  to  the  general  ex- 
pectation, owing  to  some  deficiency  in  the  evi- 
dence. 

"  If  I  only  knew,"  added  the  miller,  "  whether 
the  old  villain  were  at  home,  that  he  might  him- 
self receive  his  flour  from  me,  and  make  no  more 
ado  about  it,  I  would  rather  " — here  he  inter- 
rupted himself.  "  But  here  comes  his  boy — 
Bauzec  the  Black — and  he  can  give  us  the  surest 
information  if  he  but  choose  to  do  so." 

The  new-comer  was  a  young  lad  in  the  very 
poorest  dress  of  the  district.  H  is  thick,  unkempt, 
rough,  coal-black  hair  fell  like  a  mane  over  his 
shoulders.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  long 
cudgel,  which,  with  strength  and  agility,  he  swung 
round  in  circles ;  while  his  left  hand  clutched 
with  fierce  grasp  the  sack  which  he  carried  on 


THE    VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD.  IOI 

his  shoulders.  His  features,  as  well  as  his  ex- 
pression, wore  no  trace  of  the  old  Armorican 
type,  had  about  them  nothing  of  its  sad,  severe 
earnestness  and  indomitable  fidelity.  There  was 
evidently  the  wild,  cunning,  gypsy  character 
about  the  dark,  contracted  features,  and  the 
bright,  deeply  cut  eyes.  In  short,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  whole  appearance  that  awakened  dis- 
like as  well  as  fear. 

When  he  saw  that  he  was  observed,  he  stopped 
for  an  instant  in  his  rapid  walk,  and  seemed 
doubtful  as  to  whether  or  not  he  would  turn  back. 
But  just  at  that  moment  Dinorah  happened  to 
come  to  the  door,  busied  with  her  spindle,  and 
looking  down. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  he  came  on  again,  but 
so  slowly,  that  the  miller  more  than  once  called 
upon  him  to  make  haste,  adding,  that  in  general 
he  was  light-footed  enough,  otherwise  there  would 
have  been  an  end  of  his  light  feet  long  ago,  and 
he  would  have  had  a  couple  of  pounds  of  iron 
hung  upon  them.  When  the  lad  had  come  with- 
in a  few  steps  of  us,  he  stood  still  again,  and  cast 
furtive  glances — differing,  however,  wonderfully 
in  expression — first  at  us,  and  then  at  Dinorah. 
The  miller  then  asked  him  if  Judock  was  at  home. 
He  made  no  answer  till  Dinorah  repeated  the 
question,  when  he  slowly  said  : 

"  He  only  can  know  that  who  comes  from  the 
Ravens'  Cliff." 


XO2  THE  VIRGIN  s  GOD-CHILD. 

"  And  thou,  lad,  comest  as  usual,"  said  the 
fisherman,  advancing  towards  us  from  his  boat, 
"  only  from  some  place  or  other  thou  shouldest 
not  come  from,  and  which  no  one  asks  thee 
about." 

"Where  should  he  come  from,  indeed,  but 
from  some  poaching  expedition  ? "  suggested  the 
miller.  "  Let  us  see  what  your  booty  is  to-day — 
fruit  or  roots,  fish  or  flesh  !  " 

And  so  saying,  he  was  going  to  snatch  at  the 
sack,  but  the  youth  looked  at  him  in  such  a  way, 
and  made  such  an  expressive  motion  with  the 
cudgel,  that  the  miller,  strong  as  he  was,  drew 
back,  with  an  exclamation  that  called  forth  the 
interposition  of  Dinorah. 

"  Bauzec  comes  from  the  downs,"  she  calmly 
said  ;  "  I  saw  him  wandering  about  there  an 
hour  or  so  ago." 

"  He  has  been  hunting  with  the  gentry.  I 
have  met  him  out  with  them  before  now,"  ex- 
claimed Guiller  spitefully. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  replied  the  youth,  in  a  tone 
of  defiance.  "  Here  is  my  gun,  which  never  fails, 
and  here  is  my  sporting  dog,  which  never  loses 
scent  of  the  game,"  added  he  triumphantly,  as 
he  swung  round  his  cudgel,  and  opened  his  sack 
a  little,  out  of  which  peeped  a  little  white,  hairy 
head,  with  small,  red  eyes,  and  a  pointed  and 
blood-stained  little  nose. 

"  A  ferret !  "  exclaimed  Salaun  ;  "  no  wonder, 


THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD.  IO3 

then,  that  the  gentry  complain  that  they  can 
hardly  get  a  roasted  rabbit  out  of  all  their  rabbit 
warrens." 

Bauzec  grinned  with  delight  at  this  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  heroic  deeds.  He  fumbled  in 
his  bag,  and  brought  out  four  fine  rabbits,  on 
whose  white  breasts  the  little  track  of  blood 
showed  where  the  ferret  had  sucked  their  veins. 
That  little  creature  evinced  a  strong  fellow-feel- 
ing with  his  master,  looking  complacently  upon 
its  victims,  and  licking  its  lips  and  whiskers  with 
its  small  red  tongue. 

To  the  miller's  question  as  to  whether  he  was 
willing  to  sell  them,  Bauzec  replied  : 

"  Not  here  ;  I  shall  get  a  better  price  for  them 
at  the  tavern  in  Crozon,  as  well  as  a  glass  of  fire- 
water into  the  bargain." 

So  saying,  he  replaced  his  booty  in  the  bag, 
lingered  for  a  moment  or  two  as  if  in  indecision, 
and  then  prepared,  to  leave  without  any  further 
salutation.  But  he  suddenly  recollected  himself, 
drew  one  of  the  rabbits  out  of  the  bag  again,  and 
threw  it  at  Dinorah's  feet,  with  the  bold  yet  shy 
manner  of  a  rough  youth  who  would  willingly  be 
gallant  but  does  not  know  how. 

"  It  is  the  finest  of  them,"  muttered  he  ;  "  the 
little  saint  may  keep  it  if  she  will." 

Dinorah  looked  at  him  gravely,  almost  severely. 
But  her  father  pushed  away  the  present  with  his 
foot,  and  said  rudely  :  "  Take  thy  game  along 


IO4  THE   VIRGIN  S   GOD-CHILD. 

with  thee,  lad;  we  only  receive  presents  from 
Christian  people." 

Bauzec  shrank  back,  and  for  a  moment  ap- 
peared discomfited;  but  he  soon  regained  his 
savage  air  of  defiance.  He  uttered  a  sort  of  hiss- 
ing sound,  which  might  pass  for  a  laugh  of  con- 
tempt, took  up  his  bag  again,  and  with  a  few 
strides  vanished  behind  a  projection  of  the 
rocks. 

The  miller,  meanwhile,  had  picked  up  the 
rabbit,  and  said  that  his  conscience  was  not  so 
tender ;  and  that,  if  they  despised  the  dainty 
roast  it  would  make,  it  would  do  nicely  for  him. 

He  then  prepared  to  join  Bauzec,  as  he  had  to 
go  to  the  Ravens'  Cliff.  I  resolved  to  accompany 
him ;  for  I  was  curious  to  make  the  personal  ac- 
quaintance of  this  Judock,  whose  innocence  as 
to  the  charges  already  referred  to  had  always  ap- 
peared to  me  something  more  than  doubtful, 
while  their  nature  had  left  on  my  mind  a  picture 
of  a  remarkable  and  original  villain.  The  fisher- 
man promised,  though  evidently  with  some  re- 
luctance, to  bring  the  boat  round  for  me  to 
Ravens'  Cliff  at  the  proper  time.  I  took  a  short 
farewell  of  Dinorah,  but  found  her  far  more 
silent  and  reserved  than  she  had  been  at  first, 
and  went  on  my  way,  accompanied  by  the 
miller. 

"  You  will  find  Judock  an  odd  sort  of  saint/* 
said  my  companion,  in  his  obtrusive  way ;  "  or 


THE   VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD.  1 05 

rather,  I  should  say,  no  saint  at  all,  but  a  regular 
limb  of  Satan,  with  whose  sins  and  crimes  one 
could  fill  up  the  whole  way  between  Camaret  and 
Crozon.  For  twenty  years  he  lit  false  lights  from 
Loquirnk  to  Trevignon,  and  has  had  more  to  do 
with  shipwrecks  upon  this  coast  than  the  south- 
west wind  itself." 

I  asked  whether  this  creditable  occupation  en- 
riched its  pursuer. 

"  One  cannot  exactly  tell,"  rejoined  Guiller  ; 
"  he  lives  in  his  den  yonder  as  poor  as  a 
Klasker-bara — a  bread-seeker,  as  we  call  beggars 
about  here.  But  the  question  is,  whether  his 
miserliness  be  not  greater  than  all  his  other  vices. 
Many  believe  that  he  has  tons  of  buried  gold. 
And  besides,  he  gains  something  every  now  and 
then  as  a  flayer  and  rope-maker ;  and  on  that 
account,  too,  the  people  look  askance  at  him  as 
anything  but  a  Christian,  and  aver  that  he  is  a 
Kakous." 

After  an  hour's  good  walk,  as  we  followed  a 
bend  of  the  down,  we  came  in  sight  of  Judock's 
hut.  It  was  built  into  a  small  and  narrow  fissure 
in  the  rocks,  and  stood  close  to  the  shore.  The 
natural  walls  thus  afforded,  the  moss-grown  flag- 
stones that  formed  its  roof,  and  whose  broad 
crevices  were  stuffed  up  with  sea-tang,  held  to- 
gether by  strong  fir-branches,  rendered  it  diffi- 
cult to  distinguish  the  dwelling  from  the  rocks 
around,  and  the  sea-produce  strewn  upon  them. 


lo6  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

Everything  was  barren,  rude,  and  inhospitable- 
looking.  Some  pointed  piles  of  bones  lay  about, 
and  the  projecting  roof  of  the  gable  had  two  or 
three  horses'  skulls  nailed  to  it,  a  decoration 
worthy  of  the  whole. 

Judock  sat  at  his  door,  busied  with  some  old 
cordage,  which  he  was  pulling  to  pieces.  He 
was  a  little,  thin,  shrivelled  old  man,  with  a  large 
bald  head.  The  prevailing  hue  of  his  face  was 
almost  brick-colored,  but  in  the  countless  wrinkles 
the  skin  was  lighter ;  and  as  these  wrinkles 
widened  more  or  less  at  every  change  of  feature, 
or  when  he  spoke,  they  gave  him  a  strange  re- 
pulsive appearance,  and  made  a  varying  and  con- 
fusing impression  upon  the  beholder.  His  rest- 
less, piercing  glance,  his  beak-like  nose,  his  low 
forehead,  his  toothless  mouth,  his  under  jaw  in 
constant  motion, — all  completed  a  picture  which 
only  answered  too  well  to  the  opinion  that  I  had 
already  formed  of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  me  he  started,  and  furtively 
watched  all  my  movements  with  visible  unrest 
and  suspicion.  But  he  pretended  not  to  observe 
me. 

"  Now  then,  old  sinner,"  said  Guiller  to  him  at 
last,  "canst  thou  not  give  God's  blessing  and 
the  good-day  to  this  gentleman  ?  " 

"What  is  the  nobleman  seeking  for  on  this 
coast  ? "  was  the  ungracious  answer,  spoken  in 
an  undertone. 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  107 

"  Ay,  what  indeed  ? — old  Judock,  perhaps," 
said  the  miller,  laughing. 

At  these  words  Judock  sprang  up,  and  seemed 
doubtful  whether  to  flee  or  to  defend  himself.  I 
however  soon  calmed  him,  by  assuring  him  that 
I  was  only  a  lover  of  rock  and  ocean,  and  that  I 
had  a  boat  ready  to  take  me  to  see  the  cave. 
Without  returning  me  any  answer,  he  seized  the 
sack  of  flour  that  Guiller  had  brought,  and  carried 
it  into  the  hut.  No  sooner  had  I  crossed  the 
threshold,  however,  than  Judock  let  his  burden 
fall  and  gave  a  loud  scream. 

"  He  here  !  "  exclaimed  he,  with  an  expression 
of  extremest  amazement.  "  The  saints  be  gra- 
cious to  me  !  how  has  he  got  in  ?  " 

The  intruder  was  Bauzec,  who,  to  all  appear- 
ance quite  unconcerned,  sat  upon  the  hearth  and 
roasted  potatoes  in  the  ashes. 

"  Why,"  observed  the  miller,  showing  himself 
upon  the  doorsill,  "  you  have  not  left  more  than 
one  hole  to  your  palace ;  how  could  he  have  got 
in  otherwise  than  by  it,  old  boy?" 
->  "  No,  no ;  the  door  was  shut,  and  I — but  I 
must  ferret  out  how  this  vermin  crept  in  here 
without  my  knowledge,  or — " 

He  raised  his  hand  threateningly  against  the 
lad,  who,  however,  replied  calmly,  and  with  an 
ironical  emphasis  upon  the  expression  : 

"Why,  my  dear  father,  does  not  the  wind 
find  its  way  in  without  asking  your  leave,  and 


io8  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

why  should  not  your  dear  little  son  do  the 
same  ? " 

"  Only  hear  him,  the  young  imp  !  "  exclaimed 
the  old  man,  half  angrily  and  half  piteously.  "  He 
himself  confesses  that  he  has  slipped  in  here  to 
rob  his  poor  old  father  ! " 

"  Eh,  father  dear  !  "  continued  the  youth  in 
the  same  mocking  tone ;  "  so  there  is  then  some- 
thing to  rob  you  of,  and  people  are  not  so  far 
wrong — eh  ? " 

That  last  sentence  was  too  much  for  the  old 
man.  He  seized  an  iron  implement  which  lay 
at  hand,  and  rushed  upon  Bauzec ;  but  with  a 
laugh  he  slipped  away  from  him,  and  out  at  the 
door,  with  cat-like  agility.  The  old  man  fol- 
lowed, but  he  very  soon  returned  out  of  breath, 
apparently  without  having  effected  anything.  He 
spent  himself  in  asseverations  respecting  his  pov- 
erty, his  age,  and  his  wretchedness  ;  the  untruth, 
and  indeed  impossibility,  of  any  reports  to  the  con- 
trary ;  the  bad-heartedness  and  ingratitude  of  the 
"  vermin,"  as  he  called  his  well-educated  son. 

The  miller  put  an  end  to  the  repulsive  garrulity 
of  the  old  man — whose  mind  was  actually  weak- 
ened by  the  alarm  given  to  his  covetousness — by 
reminding  him  of  the  payment  due,  and  of  the 
glass  of  brandy  that  was  to  accompany  it.  But 
he  could  only  bring  him  to  the  point  by  the 
positive  threat  of  no  longer  grinding  for  him. 

At  last  the  boat  of  old  Salaun  touched  the 


THE    VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD.  109 

shore,  and  he  called  out  to  me  that  there  was 
no  time  to  lose.  I  was  glad  to  leave  the  inhos- 
pitable hut  and  its  owner,  and  the  miller  too, 
whose  manner  towards  the  old  man  was  disagree- 
able to  me.  So  I  soon  found  myself  sitting  in 
the  boat,  and  gave  myself  up  to  the  strange  and 
sublime  scenes  that  shore  and  sea  afforded  me, 
as  he  rowed  to  the  outlet  of  the  bay.  Salaun  had 
made  visible  haste  to  push  off  from  the  shore,  and 
had  at  first  exerted  all  his  energies  to  get  away  as 
fast  as  possible  out  of  sight  of  the  Kakous'  hut. 

His  exertions,  and  the  anxious  look  that  he 
cast  towards  the  cloudless  horizon,  induced  me 
at  last  to  ask  him  whether  we  had  a  sudden 
squall  to  apprehend. 

"  Ask  them  who  cause  such,  sir  ;  it  would  not 
be  the  first  storm  that  has  come  from  that  quar- 
ter in  perfectly  still  weather,"  said  he  signifi- 
cantly, while  he  pointed  to  the  direction  where 
stood  the  dwelling  of  the  Kakous. 

And  strange  enough,  at  that  very  moment,  a  light 
white  cloud  arose  from  the  point  in  question,  and 
spread  out  to  the  horizon.  But  I  soon  convinced 
myself  that  it  must  be  smoke  and  concerned  my- 
self no  further  about  the  matter,  seeing  that  the 
Gabarier,  to  my  query  as  to  how  a  fire  could  take 
place  on  so  nearly  uninhabited  a  coast,  merely 
replied  by  shrugs  of  the  shoulders  and  other 
strange  gestures.  And  besides  this,  we  had 
now  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  Grotto  of  Mor- 


IIO  THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD. 

gate,  where  Nature  claimed  and  absorbed  all  my 
attention. 

I  let  the  conversation  drop,  and  soon  we  glided 
through  the  narrow  entrance  into  the  cave,  whose 
noble  dome — looking,  in  the  wonderfully  blue 
light,  as  if  it  were  built  of  sapphires — rose  sud- 
denly upon  the  astonished  and  bewildered  sight. 
This  cave  certainly  surpasses  the  so  much 
more  widely  famed  blue  Grotto  of  Capri ;  and 
this  particular  point,  as  well  as  the  whole  coast 
indeed,  possesses,  in  a  much  higher  degree  than 
those  southern  shores,  the  charm  of  ancient  local 
traditions  and  national  songs. 

These  are  for  the  most  part  connected,  in  this 
district,  with  the  mythic  King  Grallon-Mawr 
(Grallon  the  Great),  and  with  the  magic  Princess 
Morgane,  or  Morgate,  who,  as  is  well  known,  oc- 
cupies so  prominent  a  position  in  the  legends  and 
lays  of  Arthur's  Round  Table. 

Nothing  was  wanting  but  a  hint  on  my  part  to 
induce  my  companion,  who  had  been  hitherto  so 
monosyllabic,  to  set  off  fluently  upon  these  sub- 
jects. 

His  favorite  tradition — the  scene  of  which, 
moreover,  was,  he  asserted,  this  very  grotto — 
appeared  to  be  the  story  of  the  fair  Genossa, 
which  is  also  preserved  in  an  old  national  song 
(Gutrz)  of  Brittany.* 

*  It  is  well  known  that  the  distinguished  Villemarque 
has  published  a  collection,  in  two  volumes,  of  similar 


THE   VIRGINS   GOD-CHILD.  Ill 

Genossa  was  the  daughter  of  a  mighty  lord, 
who  lived  in  the  castle  whose  giant  ruins  are  still 
shown  on  the  island  of  Rozan,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Laber.  Genossa  lived  without  God,  and 
without  a  wish.  Her  father  let  her  grow  up  as 
do  the  flowers  of  the  field,  and  no  priest  had  ever 
approached  the  island,  which  was  devoted  to  the 
Evil  Spirit.  Sitting  upon  a  snow-white  cow  with 
golden  horns,  she  wandered  all  the  day  long 
through  the  meadows  and  woods  that  lay  around 
the  shore,  catching  in  her  silken  net  the  birds  on 
the  wing. 

One  day  she  chanced  to  meet  a  beautiful 
young  man  upon  a  black  bull  with  silver  horns. 
His  approach  thrilled  her  through  and  through. 
He  spoke  such  wondrously  sweet  words  to 
her,  that  she  was  bewitched  by  them.  The 
black  bull  and  the  white  cow  walked  so  closely 
together,  and  so  slowly,  that  they  could  crop 
the  grass  at  their  feet,  and  pull  at  the  same 
flowers ;  and  the  blended  sound  of  their  hoofs 
echoed  like  music  in  the  heart  of  Genossa. 

The  fisherman  had  at  first  told  the  tale  in  his 
own  way,  and  with  sundry  pauses  ;  but  soon  the 
words  of  the  old  ditty  fell  from  him  in  their 
original  form,  and  he  continued  without  interrup- 

national  lyrics,  under  the  title,  Barzas-Bricz,  chants  popu- 
laires  de  la  Bretagne,  which  have  also  been  translated  by 
Ad.  Keller,  and  others  whose  names  have  escaped  my 
memory.  But  the  legend  of  Genossa  is  not  ainongst  them. 


ii2  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

tion,  in  a  strange  half-chanting,  half-reciting 
tone: 

"  It  seemed  to  Genossa  as  though  every  tree 
were  hung  around  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  and 
sweet  bird-notes  sprung  from  under  every  leaf, 
and  the  sea  breezes  were  laden  with  incense-like 
perfume.  Genossa  met  the  handsome  man  on 
the  black  bull  more  than  once,  and  ever  his 
magic  power  grew  stronger  and  stronger  over 
her.  She  soon  thought  and  wished  only  what 
the  stranger  wished  and  thought.  And  so  it 
came  to  pass  that  one  day  the  white  cow  returned 
to  the  castle  alone,  and  Genossa  sat  behind  the 
stranger  upon  the  black  bull  with  the  silver  horns. 
The  lord  of  the  island  of  Rozan,  however, 
gathered  all  his  men  together  in  pursuit,  each 
bearing  in  one  hand  a  sword,  and  in  the  other  a 
dagger.  For  this  lord  had  promised  to  cover 
with  gold  every  drop  of  blood  spilt,  whether  of 
their  own  or  their  enemy's. 

"  Soon  Genossa  found  herself  resting  by  the 
stranger's  side  on  the  sea-shore,  while  the  black 
bull  pastured  near.  As  soon  as  the  stranger  saw 
the  pursuers  advancing,  he  vaulted  with  Genossa 
on  the  back  of  the  bull,  who  plunged  into  the 
blue  sea,  and  soon  carried  them  over  to  the 
Grotto  of  Morgane.  Arrived  there,  the  stranger 
began  to  caress  the  maiden ;  she  shrank  away 
abashed,  and  said : 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  113 

"  *  Leave  off,  Spountus.*  I  hear  my  mother 
weeping  and  sobbing  between  the  boards  of  the 
narrow  house.' 

" '  It  is  the  sighing  of  the  waves  in  the  narrow 
fissures  of  the  rock,  my  sweet  Genossa.' 

"  *  Listen,  listen,  Spountus  !  my  mother  speaks 
from  under  the  consecrated  earth  !  ' 

" '  What  says  she,  then,  from  under  the  con- 
secrated earth,  Genossa  ? ' 

"  '  She  says  that  her  daughter  is  not  to  give 
herself  up  body  and  soul  without  the  show  of 
consecrated  altar-lights,  and  without  the  priest's 
holy  chants.' 

"  '  Be  it,  then,  as  she  wishes,  Genossa,  my  be- 
loved ;  I  honor  the  dead ! ' 

"  Then  the  handsome  stranger  made  a  sign, 
and  suddenly  there  rose  out  of  the  darkness 
priest  and  choristers,  and  surrounded  the  rock 
that  rises  in  the  little  island  in  the  midst  of  the 
grotto.  They  covered  the  rock  with  a  cloth  of 
scarlet  silk  embroidered  in  silver,  and  kindled 
around  it  tall  wax  lights  in  golden  candlesticks. 
The  marriage  ceremony  began.  But  at  the  mo- 
ment when  the  priest  spoke  the  blessing,  and 
placed  the  ring  upon  her  finger,  Genossa 
screamed  aloud  till  the  whole  grotto  rang  with 
the  sound.  The  ring  burned  her  finger  like  fire. 
She  tried  to  tear  herself  away — to  fly,  but  it  was 

*  Spountus,  the  Terrible,  is  one  of  the  names  given  to  the 
Evil  Spirit  by  the  Armorican  Celts. 

8 


114  THE    VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD. 

too  late  !  Spountus  seized  her  arm,  and  forced 
her  to  follow  him  through  long,  endlessly  long 
and  dismal  passages.  Her  heart  died  within  her, 
and,  trembling  and  sorrowful,  she  leaned  on  the 
one  who  had  become  master  of  her  soul  and 
body. 

"'Listen,  Spountus,'  whispered  she,  'does  it 
not  seem  as  if  all  around  us — here,  there,  and 
everywhere — there  came  the  sounds  of  weeping 
and  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  ? ' 

"  '  It  is  nothing,  Genossa,  my  sweet  soul,  but 
the  workmen  who  are  boring  the  rock  above  us, 
and  singing  their  songs  the  while.' 

"  '  Seems  it  not,  Spountus,  as  though  bitter 
tears  were  trickling  on  us  down  the  rocks  ? ' 

"  '  It  is  only  the  water  of  the  springs  that  oozes 
through  the  rock,  Genossa,  my  sweet  soul.' 

" '  Lord  of  my  life,  the  air  that  surrounds  us  is 
like  the  breath  of  a  furnace  ! ' 

"  '  Genossa,  joy  of  my  heart,  look  there  !  Fire, 
fire,  everywhere  fire  !  this  is  hell,  heathen  maiden, 
and  thou  art  mine  for  ever  ! ' ' 

This  is  the  Guerz  of  Genossa,  which  must  of 
course  lose  indescribably  by  translation,  and  by 
the  absence  of  all  the  circumstances  under  which 
I  heard  it. 

We  rowed  once  more  in  silence  round  the 
devil's  altar,  and  by  way  of  dispelling  the  op- 
pressive and  shuddering  mood  into  which  the  old 
song  had  unconsciously  plunged  me,  I  inquired 


THE   VIRGIN  S   GOD-CHILD.  115 

whether  Spountus  were  still  occasionally  to  be 
seen  in  the  grotto.  The  fisherman  did  not  an- 
swer at  once,  but  first  with  a  couple  of  powerful 
oar-strokes  made  the  boat  shoot  out  through  the 
entrance  of  the  grotto  into  the  clear  daylight  and 
the  free  expanse  of  sea.  Then  he  said  : 

"  The  gentleman  ought  to  have  asked  old  Ju- 
dock  that  question — he  knows  its  answer." 

As  it  was  evident  that  my  companion  had  no 
pleasure  in  telling  either  what  he  knew  or  what 
he  thought  upon  this  subject,  and  as  moreover 
we  were  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  thick  fog,  oc- 
casioning all  manner  of  optical  illusions,  and  re- 
quiring his  whole  attention  to  be  given  to  the 
management  of  the  boat,  we  both  continued 
silent.  But  after  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
when  a  fresh  wind  rose  and  drove  away  the  fog, 
Salaun  suddenly  touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  ex- 
claiming : 

"  Look  there  !     Judock's  hut  is  on  fire  ! " 

On  looking  round,  I  remarked  a  ruddy  light 
on  the  Ravens'  Cliff,  which  was  scarcely  distin- 
guished from  the  rosy  glow  still  thrown  by  the 
setting  sun  upon  the  higher  rocks.  It  was  only 
at  intervals  that  a  brighter  flame  leaped  up. 
Agreeably  to  my  wish,  Salaun  steered  our  boat 
to  the  spot ;  curiosity,  or  the  wish  to  assist,  over- 
coming the  repugnance  which  he  had  previously 
shown  to  the  Ravens'  Cliff  and  to  its  owner. 

As  we  drew  near  we  saw  a  number  of  men 


n6  THE  VIRGIN'S  SOD-CHILD. 

busily  engaged  about  the  fire,  while  numbers 
more  were  hurrying  towards  it  in  every  direction. 
Having  landed,  we  soon  found  out  that,  as  is 
generally  the  case  on  such  occasions,  the  great- 
est part  of  them  by  screams  and  useless  gestures 
impeded  the  assistance  that  might  yet  have  been 
afforded.  A  few  only  were  occupied  with  the 
door,  which,  however,  they  had  vainly  tried  to 
break  open  with  the  half  of  a  fir-tree  stem  torn 
off  the  roof,  while  the  fire  appeared  to  be  de- 
vouring slowly  the  inside  of  the  hut,  which  had 
no  vent  or  opening  of  any  kind.  On  approach- 
ing nearer,  a  loud  groaning  and  whining  was  dis- 
tinctly heard  within.  We  listened  for  a  moment ; 
another  voice  arose,  a  sharp,  mocking  tone, 
which  at  last  broke  out  into  a  yell  of  fiendish 
laughter.  Then  hard  blows  were  repeatedly 
given — then  again  the  same  wailing  and  whim- 
pering, the  same  mocking  rejoinder. 

Salaun  and  the  remainder  drew  back  in  hor- 
ror, and  a  few  words,  spoken  half  aloud,  showed 
that  they  were  in  no  doubt  as  to  whom  the  old 
villain  had  to  deal  with,  and  that,  in  their 
opinion,  no  human  help  could  avail  to  deliver 
him  from  the  grasp  of  the  spirits  whom  he  had 
served  all  his  life  long. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  requested  Salaun  to  join 
me  in  an  attempt  to  break  open  the  door. 

"  This  fire  is  not  kindled  by  mortal  hands,  and 
we  poor  sinners  can  never  put  it  out." 


THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD.  117 

"  The  Church  will  put  it  out,  then,"  here  inter- 
fered a  deep,  well-toned  voice. 

It  was  that  of  a  priest  who  had  joined  us. 
All  surrounded  him,  taking  off  their  hats  with 
much  respect,  while  I  in  a  few  words  explained 
the  state  of  things.  Though  advanced  in  years, 
he  was  still  strong  and  active  in  mind  and  body. 
We  understood  each  other  instantly.  While  he 
sent  a  messenger  to  fetch  an  axe  from  the  nearest 
village,  and  gave  some  other  judicious  orders, 
which  the  people  unhesitatingly  obeyed,  I  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  rock  into  whose  fissures  the  hut 
was  squeezed,  that  I  might  thence  try  to  find  out 
whether  it  had  any  other  opening  or  not. 

I  was,  however,  unable  to  discover  anything  of 
the  kind,  and  was  therefore  about  to  descend, 
when  I  saw  a  dark  figure  glide  behind  some  low 
bushes  at  a  little  distance,  but  the  very  same 
moment  it  vanished  behind  the  next  projection 
of  rock.  It  had  already  become  too  dark,  and 
the  apparition  was  too  sudden  and  momentary 
for  me  to  have  any  distinct  impression  as  to  its 
form  or  features. 

At  first  I  felt  half  inclined  to  pursue  it,  but 
after  two  or  three  onward  steps  I  felt  convinced 
that  to  do  so  along  such  a  road  as  this,  over  such 
masses  of  rocks,  such  crevices,  and  through  such 
brushwood,  would  be  not  only  vain,  but  danger- 
ous. At  the  same  time,  too,  the  strokes  of  the 
axe  upon  the  door  announced  that  the  chief 


n8  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

point — that  of  forcing  an  entrance  into  the  hut 
— would  soon  be  gained,  and  I  therefore  rapidly 
made  my  way  down  again. 

Just  as  I  arrived  the  door  gave  way.  A  stream 
of  flame,  clouds  of  smoke,  and  sparks  rushed 
out,  and  scared  the  bystanders  away ;  but  the ( 
fury  of  the  fire  was  already  spent,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  priest  was  able  to  enter,  followed 
by  Salaun  and  myself.  The  others  remained 
standing  outside,  partly  out  of  respect  to  the  in- 
junctions of  the  priest,  partly  through  terror  of 
the  things  that  might  have  to  be  encountered 
within. 

The  first  sight  that  met  our  eyes  was  Judock 
lying  upon  the  hearth  in  a  pool  of  blood.  He 
was  still  alive,  and  we  instantly  carried  him  out 
into  the  open  air ;  and  at  the  earnest  entreaty  of 
the  priest,  the  barber  of  the  neighboring  village, 
who,  like  the  many  others,  found  himself  on  the 
spot,  undertook  to  examine,  and,  as  far  as  he  was 
able,  to  treat  the  severely-wounded  man.  At  the 
same  time,  all  that  could  be  done  was  done  to 
save  the  hut.  It  was  found  that  all  that  was 
combustible  was  already  consumed,  and  the  glow- 
ing embers  were  easily  quenched.  No  trace  was 
found  of  the  perpetrator,  or  of  the  cause  of  the 
crime,  except,  indeed,  a  mattock,  which  had  evi- 
dently served  to  raise  the  hearthstone,  and  to  dig- 
under  it. 

That  this  calamity  was  not  accidental,  we  none 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  119 

of  us  had  any  doubt ;  and  as  I,  in  company  with 
the  priest,  again  approached  the  late  possessor 
of  the  hut,  the  surgeon,  as  he  called  himself, 
showed  us  a  deep  wound  in  the  breast,  and  a 
considerable  dint  in  the  head  of  the  old  Kakous, 
which  could  only  have  been  dealt  by  a  murderer's 
hand. 

It  was  quite  plain  that  no  recovery  was  to  be 
looked  for.  Before  we  found  the  old  man,  he 
had  bled  almost  to  death,  and  seemed  to  have 
already  entirely  lost  consciousness.  But  after  a 
few  minutes,  he  came  to  himself  a  little,  moved 
his  lips,  opened  his  eyes,  and  tried,  with  the  con- 
vulsive energy  of  a  dying  effort,  to  shape  his  loud 
groans  into  intelligible  words.  If  his  appearance 
had  been  repulsive  in  life,  it  was  now  almost  in- 
sufferably horrible.  At  length  he  was  able  to 
make  it  understood  that  he  wished  to  confess. 
The  bystanders  seemed  to  look  upon  such  a  re- 
quest not  only  with  wonder,  but  displeasure,  as 
involving  unheard-of  presumption,  and  actual 
desecration  of  the  rite.  But  the  priest  knelt 
down  at  once  by  the  head  of  the  dying  man,  and 
at  a  sign  from  him  the  people  reverentially  re- 
tired, the  greatest  part  evincing  their  sympathy 
with  the  solemn  occasion  by  kneeling  also,  with 
heads  uncovered,  and  hands  folded  in  silent 
prayer. 

The  moon  had  by  this  time  risen,  and  spread 
a  mild,  peaceful  light  on  the  shore,  the  rocks,  and 


120  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

the  sea,  whose  low  murmur  the  solemn  stillness 
of  the  men,  so  loud  a  few  minutes  before,  ren- 
dered more  impressive.  The  silence  was  only 
broken  every  now  and  then  by  the  increasingly 
painful  groans  of  the  dying  man,  or  by  an  out- 
burst of  sparks,  as  some  remnants  of  the  wood- 
work within  the  hut,  or  rather  the  cleft  that  it 
formerly  occupied,  fell  in. 

After  a  few  minutes,  the  priest  beckoned  me 
to  approach.  He  had,  according  to  his  appre- 
hension of  the  duties  of  his  calling,  endeavored, 
before  all  things,  to  awaken  the  feeble  conscious- 
ness of  the  expiring  sinner  to  the  necessity  of 
preparing  for  death  after  the  manner  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  as  far  as  it  was  possible  to  do 
so  under  such  circumstances.  But  when  this 
was  over,  he  was  anxious  to  make  an  attempt  to 
elicit  some  words  which  might  lead  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  murderer ;  and  it  was  with  this 
view  that  he  wished  to  have  me  both  as  assistant 
and  witness — and  also  called  old  Salaun. 

The  dying  man's  words  were  for  the  most  part 
incoherent,  and  spoken  in  an  unintelligible  voice  ; 
but,  however,  such  as  they  were,  they  tended  to 
confirm  a  suspicion  that  had  already  crossed  my 
m/nd,  and  led  me  to  connect  the  mysterious  pres- 
ence in  the  hut,  of  the  youth  called  Bauzec,  on 
the  occasion  of  my  first  visit,  with  the  apparition 
I  had  just  witnessed  on  the  rocks  above.  In  the 
mind  of  the  dying  man,  shaken  as  it  was  by  the 


THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD.  121 

death-struggle,  and  the  terrors  of  conscience,  tha 
same  opinion  evidently  often  obtained  respecting 
the  personality  of  his  murderer,  which  the  people 
are  wont  to  offer  in  connection  with  the  most 
varied  circumstances,  namely,  that  the  Evil  One 
had  surprised  him  counting  his  ill-won  wealth, 
and  asserted  his  own  claim  to  it. 

But  every  now  and  then  the  recollection  of  the 
true  state  of  the  case  would  pierce  through,  as  he 
repeated  : 

"  The  vermin  !  the  black  !  the  vermin  !  "  over 
and  over  again,  with  such  rage  and  abhorrence, 
that  his  energies  seemed  more  and  more  ex- 
hausted by  each  repetition  of  the  words,  and  at 
last  he  died  in  pronouncing  them. 

It  was  to  me  a  very  significant  fact  that  Ju- 
dock  should,  in  his  wanderings,  use  many  com- 
mon English  phrases,  which  rendered  it  beyond 
a  doubt  that  he  had  carried  on  treasonable  com- 
munications with  the  enemy  during  the  war,  and 
it  was  with  these  that  the  criminal  prosecutions 
already  referred  to  were  connected. 

The  priest  and  Salaun  shared  my  conviction. 
But  when  I  exclaimed  with  horror  : 

"  The  son  the  murderer  of  the  father  I "  the 
fisherman  rejoined : 

"  It  is  bad  enough  as  it  is,  but  Bauzec  the 
Black  is  not  the  son  of  Judock  Shipwreck.  I  my- 
self saw  him  draw  the  fellow  with  his  hook  out 
of  the  hen-coop  of  a  ship  that  had  gone  to  pieces. 


!22  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

He  knew  best  what  wind  had  driven  it  upon  the 
Ravens'  Cliff.  And  then  the  little  black  imp  sat 
upon  the  coop,  and  was  scarcely  on  shore  before 
he  shook  off  the  water  like  a  poodle,  and  danced 
and  screamed,  so  that  it  was  awful  to  see  him. 
But  as  he  had  been  almost  drowned,  the  country 
'people  called  him  *  Bauzec,'  which  means  in  the 
gentleman's  language  'the  drowned  one.'  " 

"  Judock,  then,  adopted  him  as  a  son  ?  "  asked 
I.  "  That  is  more  than  I  should  have  believed 
of  him." 

"  That  was  not  the  case  either,"  replied  Sa- 
laun,  "  but  just  the  contrary.  The  boy  hung  upon 
the  old  man  like  a  chain  ;  hooked  himself  to  him 
like  a  kitten.  He  could  neither  be  shaken  off 
nor  driven  away  by  blows,  kicks,  or  hunger — he 
always  returned.  If  Judock  had  flung  him  out 
at  night,  and  driven  him  far  away  across  the 
downs,  believing  that  he  would  not  find  his  way 
back ;  when  morning  came,  there  he  was  again 
cowering  at  the  door.  But  you  are  not  to  sup- 
pose that  gratitude  or  attachment  had  anything 
to  do  with  this.  On  the  contrary,  from  the  very 
first  he  took  to  playing  all  manner  of  tricks  upon 
the  old  man  ;  and  if  he  ever  failed  to  get  out  of 
the  way  of  blows  with  cat-like  expertness,  and 
chanced  to  be  caught,  which  was  rare,  he  would 
bite  and  scratch  like  a  young  wild  beast.  It 
really  seemed  as  though  he  were  an  evil  spirit, 
and  had  a  hold  over  the  old  sinner's  soul.  At  all 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  123 

events,  he  was  obliged  to  tolerate  what  he  could 
not  avoid.  For,  you  see,  he  was  grown  old  and 
feeble,  and  had,  besides,  a  horror  of  the  lad,  whom 
he  never  called  by  any  other  name  than  the 
*  vermin  ' ;  or  else  what  could  have  prevented 
him  from  tying  a  stone  about  his  neck  and  throw- 
ing him  into  the  sea  ?  Certainly  it  was  not  con- 
science or  tender-heartedness,  for — " 

Here  Salaun  interrupted  himself. 

"  The  Kakous  is  now  dead,  and  has  to  give  an 
account  of  himself  elsewhere,  and  so  I  will  say 
no  more  about  him.  We  poor  folk  about  here 
have  never  doubted  that  Bauzec  was  given  to 
Judock  Shipwreck  as  a  plague  and  a  punishment 
— whether  man  or  devil,  it's  all  one." 

Meanwhile  the  corpse  had  been  carried  into 
the  burnt-out  hut,  and  a  watch  over  it  appointed 
for  the  night.  We  at  length  contrived,  by  the 
light  of  the  tapers  brought,  to  discover  a  narrow 
opening  at  the  end  of  the  fissure,  which  wound 
up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  opened  out  amidst 
the  brushwood  there.  This  might  possibly  have 
afforded  an  inlet  to  a  slender  and  active  youth. 
But  how  it  happened  that  the  builder  and  owner 
of  the  hut  should  not  have  been  aware  of  this 
way  of  entrance,  or  how,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
should  not  have  stopped  it  up,  fearing  that  his 
good-for-nothing  comrade  might  learn  to  make 
use  of  it  without  his  leave,  and  probably  to  his 
hurt,  this  certainly  did  remain  a  mystery  to  us. 


I  24  THE   VIRGIN  S    GOD-CHILD. 

Midnight  was  already  past  before  the  country 
people  dispersed,  and  I  again  took  my  place  in 
the  boat,  to  be  rowed  by  the  old  fisherman  to  his 
own  dwelling.  We  were  both  silent,  meditating, 
no  doubt,  upon  what  we  had  just  witnessed.  We 
now  approached  the  little  bay  in  which  Salaun's 
cottage  stood,  and  by  the  unsteady  and  changing 
light  of  the  clouded  moon  were  already  able  to 
distinguish  it,  when  we  heard  a  loud  cry  for  help 
proceeding  thence.  The  next  moment  two  fig- 
ures rushed  out  on  the  shore,  and  struggled  vio- 
lently— or  rather,  one  struggled  to  overpower  the 
other,  who  endeavored  to  escape,  and  cried  more 
and  more  loudly  for  help. 

"  God  be  with  me  !  "  exclaimed  Salaun  at  the 
first  scream  heard,  "it  is  Dinorah's  voice  !  " 

And,  straining  his  strength  to  the  utmost,  he 
made  the  little  boat  bound  to  the  point  where  we 
saw  the  two  forms,  while  we  both  announced  the 
approach  of  help,  and  endeavored  to  frighten 
away  the  assailant  by  raising  our  voices  to  their 
utmost  pitch.  But,  owing  to  the  murmurs  of  the 
waves  upon  the  beach,  and  to  the  excitement  of 
the  parties  concerned,  they  did  not  observe  us 
till  we  were  but  a  few  yards  from  the  shore,  when 
we  plainly  distinguished  not  only  Dinorah,  but 
also  the  aggressor,  who  was  no  other  than  Bauzec 
the  Black.  We  further  observed  that  the  young 
girl's  strength  was  nearly  exhausted.  Dinorah 
was  the  first  to  perceive  us.  At  once  she  tore 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD.  125 

herself  out  of  her  assailant's  grasp,  and  rushed 
towards  us  into  the  sea. 

Her  father  had  hardly  time  to  check  the  boat's 
speed,  so  as  to  prevent  a  collision,  when,  breath- 
less, exhausted,  with  torn  garment  and  streaming 
hair,  she  clasped  the  boat's  prow,  and  was  lifted 
into  it  and  carried  to  shore  in  an  unconscious1 
state.  Meanwhile  Bauzec  had  vanished  ;  and 
it  would  have  been  in  vain  to  have  pursued  him, 
had  we  not,  besides,  been  fully  occupied  with 
the  poor  girl. 

Thanks  to  her  thoroughly  healthy  nature,  she 
soon  came  round,  and  told  us — but  not  without 
a  certain  reserve,  and  an  evident  endeavor  to 
criminate  the  ruffian  as  little  as  possible — that 
Bauzec  had,  about  half  an  hour  before,  in  great 
haste  and  excitement,  joined  her  on  the  shore, 
whither  she  had  gone  to  look  for  us.  He  had 
told  her,  in  the  strangest  and  wildest  way  possi- 
ble, that  he  must  leave  the  country  forthwith, 
and  that  she  must  accompany  him.  Upon  her 
refusal,  he  at  first  tried  every  means  of  persua- 
sion, and  showed  her  his  hands  full  of  gold.  But 
when  she  remained  firm,  and  again  hastened  out 
of  the  cottage,  whither  he  had  followed  her,  and 
rushed  to  the  shore,  he  tried  to  carry  her  away 
by  force. 

"  And  then  I  cried  once  more  out  of  my  inmost 
soul  to  my  heavenly  godmother,  and  you  came, 
father!"  said  the  girl  in  conclusion.  And  the 


126  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

joy  that  beamed  over  her  features  at  the  mirac- 
ulous help  which  she  fully  believed  to  have 
been  afforded  her,  banished  every  trace  of  her 
previous  terror. 

Soon,  however,  on  learning  from  us  what  had 
happened  at  the  Ravens'  Cliff,  and  recognizing, 
as  we  did  also,  in  her  late  experience  a  confirma- 
tion of  the  blood-guiltiness  of  her  wild  lover, 
she  was  seized  with  a  profound  and  peculiar 
emotion.  She  became  pale  as  death,  trem- 
bling in  every  limb,  and  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees,  where  she  long  remained  in  fervent 
prayer. 

Could  the  miller,  Guiller,  have  had  some 
grounds,  then,  for  rallying  her  about  this  wild, 
repulsive,  wicked  youth  ?  What  relations  could 
there  possibly  be  between  him  and  this  pure  and 
maidenly  creature  ?  A  few  words,  however,  ex- 
changed upon  a  later  occasion  with  the  priest 
whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  at  Ravens' 
Cliff,  afforded  me  the  only  explanation  conceiv- 
able. Her  feeling  was  a  complex  one,  consisting 
in  part  of  womanly  compassion  for  one  whom 
all  the  world,  and  perhaps  with  good  cause, 
avoided  ;  in  part,  of  a  certain  dread  of  the  youth's 
savage  strength,  not  entirely  free,  it  might  be, 
from  a  germ  of  unconscious  admiration  of  it ;  in 
part,  of  blended  piety  and  vanity,  such  as  one 
often  meets  with  in  more  refined  society.  She  had 
believed  herself  elected,  by  the  assistance  and  to 


THE    VIRGINS   GOD-CHILD.  I2/ 

the  glory  of  her  heavenly  sponsor,  to  convert  this 
poor,  benighted  soul. 

And  upon  Bauzec's  part,  joined  to  the  impulse 
of  passions  early  wakened,  there  was  doubtless 
a  better  and  deeper  impression  made  by  the 
maidenly  gentleness  and  purity  of  Dinorah.  Wild 
and  scornful  as  he  was  to  all  besides,  and  in  out- 
ward appearance  to  her  also,  it  is  certain  that  she 
had  obtained  a  degree  of  influence  over  him, 
which  she,  in  her  half-childish  way,  took  pleasure 
in  displaying. 

All  this,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  only  found 
out  later.  At  the  period  of  which  I  treat,  I  con- 
tented myself  with  leaving  the  father  and  daugh- 
ter together,  and  betaking  myself  to  rest  in  the 
fragrant  hayloft  under  the  roof,  which  was  the 
room  assigned  to  me. 

When  I  awoke  the  following  morning,  the  sun 
was  already  high  in  the  heavens ;  nothing  seemed 
stirring  in  the  house,  or  round  about  it.  I  only 
heard  the  monotonous  breaking  of  the  waves 
upon  the  shore,  and  the  twittering  of  birds  be- 
tween. I  found  the  little  room  below  in  the  best 
order  possible,  and  even  my  clean  and  simple 
breakfast  ready  provided  ;  but  Salaun  and  his 
daughter  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

I  knew  too  well  the  rights  with  which  the  in- 
habitants of  Brittany  invest  the  strangers—whom 
they  designate  as  the  sent  of  God — not  to  avail 
myself,  even  in  the  absence  of  the  host,  of  the 


128  THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 

hospitality  of  which  I  stood  so  sorely  in  need. 
But  before  setting  out,  I  laid  down  a  gold-piece 
upon  the  table,  which  I  could  hardly  have  got 
old  Salaun  to  accept  had  he  been  at  home. 

I  took  the  way  to  Crozon,  and  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  before  I  heard  in  the  distance  a 
solemn  chant,  which  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to 
where  I  was.  On  account  of  the  very  high 
hedges  which  shut  in  the  road,  I  was  unable  as 
yet  to  see  any  of  tihe  singers,  even  though  I  could 
distinctly  hear  the  words  of  their  song.  A 
peasant  who  came  from  Crozon  informed  me, 
however,  that  it  was  a  procession,  undertaken  by 
all  the  adjacent  parishes  on  account  of  the  long- 
continued  drought,  and  that  it  was  marching 
around  the  fields,  chanting,  and  offering  up 
prayers  for  rain. 

From  a  little  hillock  on  the  roadside  which  I 
ascended,  I  succeeded  in  seeing  the  procession, 
which  soon,  however,  defiled  along  a  crossway, 
and  came  into  the  road.  First  came  the  priest, 
then  the  men,  two  and  two ;  afterwards  the 
women,  in  their  picturesque  Sunday  costume,  but 
with  grave  bearing,  and  absorbed  in  deep  devo- 
tion. 

In  the  pauses  of  the  chant,  which  were  devoted 
to  prayer,  nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  hum- 
ming of  insects  and  the  chirping  of  birds. 

One  of  these  pauses  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  a  noise  which  proceeded  from  the  direction 


THE   VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD.  129 

in  which  I  had  come.  It  was  made  by  the  rolling 
and  rattling  of  a  vehicle  of  some  kind  ;  and  soon 
we  could  see  in  the  lane  behind  us  a  cart,  sur- 
rounded by  armed  custom-house  officers,  as  well 
as  by  some  fishers  and  peasants.  The  procession 
drew  to  one  side  to  let  them  pass. 

As  the  cart  approached,  we  observed  that 
three  men  were  sitting  upon  the  same  seat,  and 
that  the  one  in  the  middle  was  chained,  the  other 
two  evidently  guarding  him.  Soon  the  name 
"  Bauzec  the  Black,"  which,  spoken  low,  went 
from  one  to  the  other  throughout  the  procession, 
left  no  doubt  upon  my  mind  that  it  was  the  mur- 
derer on  his  way  to  prison.  Indeed  he  himself 
took  good  care  to  give  me  every  opportunity  of 
recognizing  him  ;  for  scarcely  had  the  cart  come 
up  with  the  procession,  than  he  raised  himself 
from  the  stooping  attitude  he  had  before  main- 
tained, looked  around  him  with  the  greatest  au- 
dacity, and  called  out,  to  such  as  he  was  ac- 
quainted with,  words  of  jesting  or  abuse,  so  that 
the  good  people  seemed  at  first  quite  petrified  by 
his  profligacy.  However,  when  the  universal 
horror  and  displeasure  had  found  a  vent  in  ejac- 
ulations and  execrations,  he  seemed  to  take  even 
increased  delight  in  his  own  lawless  conduct,  and 
was  not  to  be  controlled  by  his  companions. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  most  daring  defiance, 
he  suddenly  uttered  a  cry  of  mingled  rage  and 
anguish  ;  and  after  one  violent  effort  to  break  his 
9 


130  THE    VIRGINS    GOD-CHILD. 

chains,  suddenly  sank  down  powerless,  with  his 
head  bowed  on  his  breast  and  his  eyes  closed. 

The  reason  of  this  transformation  was  soon 
evident  to  me.  The  cart  had  passed  the  men,  and 
reached  the  part  of  the  procession  formed  by  the 
women.  There  stood  Dinorah,  pale  as  a  corpse, 
her  little  hands  convulsively  clasped,  her  lips 
quivering,  but  with  a  look  of  the  deepest  sorrow 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  fixed  them  upon  the  lost  being 
before  her.  When  this  look  met  his,  all  his  wild 
audacity  was  at  once  at  an  end. 

The  procession  again  put  itself,  singing,  into 
motion,  and  was  soon  lost  in  a  by-way  behind  the 
bushes ;  while  the  cart  with  the  prisoner  went  on 
its  way  to  Crozon,  where  I  arrived  soon  after  it, 
but  was  not  able  to  remain.  After  a  while,  the 
newspapers  gave  me  an  account  of  Bauzec's 
execution. 

Many  years  afterwards,  on  visiting  a  friend 
at  Brest  who  occupied  a  position  in  its  largest 
hospital,  I  recognized  in  one  of  the  Sceurs  grises, 
to  whom  the  care  of  its  sick  was  intrusted,  the 
Virgin's  god-daughter,  Dinorah. 


THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY 

BY 
GUSTAVE  DROZ 


From  "  The  Sempstress*   Story,"  by  Gustave  Droz. 

Translated  by  E.  T.  D,  Myers.    Published  by 

West,  Johnston  &  Co. 


THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY 

BY   GUSTAVE   DROZ 

«  X7ES,  Ma'm'selle  Adele,"  said  the  semp- 
jL  stress,  the  real  happiness  of  this  world 
is  not  so  unevenly  distributed  after  all."  Louise, 
as  she  said  this,  took  from  the  reserve  in  the 
bosom  of  her  dress  a  lot  of  pins,  and  applied  them 
deftly  to  the  trimming  of  a  skirt  which  I  was  hold- 
ing for  her. 

"  A  sufficiently  comfortable  doctrine,"  I  an- 
swered,  "  but  it  does  seem  to  me  as  if  some  peo- 
ple were  born  to  live  and  to  die  unhappy." 

"  It  is  only  folks  who  never  find  anybody  to 
love  enough  ;  and  I  think  it 's  nobody's  fault  but 
their  own." 

"  But,  my  good  Louise,  would  n't  you  have  suf- 
fered much  less  last  year,  when  you  came  so 
near  losing  your  boy,  if  you  had  n't  cared  so  much 
for  him  ?  " 

I  was  only  drawing  her  on,  you  see  :  Louise's 
chat  was  the  greatest  resource  to  me  at  that 
time. 

"  Why,  Ma'm'selle  Adele,  you  are  surely  joking. 

133 


134  THE    SEMPSTRESS     STORY. 

You  'd  as  well  tell  me  to  cut  off  my  feet  to  save 
my  shoes.  You  '11  know  one  of  these  days — and 
not  so  far  off  neither,  maybe — ^how  mighty  easy 
and  sensible  it  would  be  not  to  love  your  chil- 
dren. They  are  a  worry,  too  ;  but  oh,  the  delight 
of  'em  !  I  'd  like  to  have  had  anybody  tell  me 
not  to  love  my  darling  because  it  might  grieve 
me,  when  he  lay  there  in  his  mother's  lap,  with 
blue  lips,  gasping  for  his  breath,  and  wellnigh 
dead  ;  his  face  blackish,  and  his  hands  like  this 
piece  of  wax.  You  could  see  that  everything 
was  going  against  him ;  and  with  his  great  big 
eyes  he  was  staring  in  my  face,  until  I  felt  as  if 
the  child  was  tugging  at  my  very  heartstrings. 
I  kept  smiling  at  him,  though,  through  the  tears 
that  blinded  me,  hard  as  I  tried  to  hide  them. 
Oh  !  such  tears  are  bitter  salt  indeed,  ma'm'selle  ! 
And  there  was  my  poor  husband  on  his  knees, 
making  paper  figures  to  amuse  him,  and  singing 
a  funny  song  he  used  to  laugh  at.  Now  and  then 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  would  pucker,  and  his 
cheeks  would  wrinkle  a  little  bit  under  the  eyes. 
You  could  tell  he  was  still  amused,  but  in  such  a 
dreamy  way.  Oh  !  our  child  seemed  no  longer 
with  us,  but  behind  a  veil,  like.  Wait  a  minute. 
You  must  excuse  me,  for  I  can't  help  crying 
when  I  think  of  it." 

And  the  poor  creature  drew  out  her  handker- 
chief and  fairly  sobbed  aloud.  In  the  midst  of 
it,  however,  she  smiled  and  said,  "  Well,  that 's 


THE    SEMPSTRESS     STORY.  I$5 

over  now ;  't  was  nothing,  and  I  'm  too  silly. 
And,  ma'm'selle,  here  I  've  gone  and  cried  upon 
your  mother's  dress,  and  that 's  a  pretty  busi- 
ness." 

I  took  her  hand  in  mine  and  pressed  it. 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  you  '11  stick  yourself, 
ma'm'-selle  ?  I  've  got  my  needle  in  that  hand," 
she  said  playfully.  "  But  you  did  not  mean  what 
you  said  just  now,  did  you?" 

"What  did  I  say?" 

"  That  it  would  be  better  not  to  love  your 
children  with  all  your  heart,  on  account  of  the 
great  anxiety.  Don't  you  know  such  thoughts 
are  wicked  ?  When  they  come  into  your  head 
your  mind  wants  purifying.  But  I  'm  sure  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  saying  so." 

"  You  are  entirely  right,  Louise,"  I  returned. 

"  Ah  !  so  I  thought.  And  now,  let  me  see. 
Let 's  fix  this  ruche  ;  pull  it  to  the  left  a  little, 
please." 

"  But  about  the  sick  boy.  Tell  me  about  his 
recovery." 

"  That  was  a  miracle — I  ought  to  say  two 
miracles.  It  was  a  miracle  that  God  restored 
him  to  us,  and  a  miracle  to  find  anybody  with 
so  much  knowledge  and  feeling, — such  talent. 
Such  a  tender  heart,  and  so  much,  so  much ! — 
I  'in  speaking  of  the  doctor.  A  famous  one  he 
was,  too,  you  must  know ;  for  it  was  no  less  than 
Doctor  Faron.  Heaven  knows  how  he  is  run 


136  THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY. 

after ;  and  how  rich  and  celebrated  he  is !  Are  n't 
you  surprised  to  hear  that  it  was  he  who  at- 
tended our  little  boy  ?  Indeed,  the  wonders  be- 
gin with  that.  You  may  imagine  my  husband 
was  at  his  wits'  end  when  he  saw  how  it  was 
with  the  child  ;  and  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  him 
jump  up,  get  out  his  best  coat  and  hat,  and  put 
them  on." 

"  '  Where  are  you  going  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  To  bring  Doctor  Faron.' 

"  Why,  if  he  had  said,  '  To  bring  the  Prime 
Minister,'  it  would  have  seemed  as  likely. 

" '  Don't  you  believe  Doctor  Faron  is  going 
to  trouble  himself  about  such  as  we.  They  will 
turn  you  out  of  doors/ 

"  But  'twas  no  use  talking,  my  dear.  He  was 
already  on  the  stairs,  and  I  heard  him  running 
away  as  if  the  house  was  on  fire.  Fire,  indeed ; 
worse,  far  worse  than  any  fire  ! 

"  And  there  I  was,  left  alone  with  the  child 
upon  my  knees.  He  would  n't  stay  in  bed  ;  and 
was  quieter  so,  wrapped  up  in  his  little  blanket. 
Here  will  he  die,  I  thought.  Soon  will  his  eyes 
close,  and  then  it  will  be  all  over ;  and  I  held  my 
own  breath  to  listen  to  his  feeble  and  oppressed 
pantings. 

"About  an  hour  had  passed,  when  I  heard  a 
rapid  step  on  the  stairs — (we  are  poor,  and  live 
in  attic  rooms).  The  door  opened,  and  my  hus- 
band-Came in,  wet  with  perspiration  and  out  of 


THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY.  137 

breath.  If  I  live  a  century  I  '11  not  forget  his 
look  when  he  said  : 

"  '  Well  ? ' 

"  I  answered,  *  No  worse.     But  the  doctor? ' 

"'He's  coming/ 

"  Oh !  those  blessed  words !  It  actually 
seemed  as  if  my  child  were  saved  already.  If 
you  but  knew  how  folks  love  their  little  ones. 
I  kissed  the  darling,  I  kissed  his  father,  I  laughed, 
I  cried,  and  I  no  longer  felt  the  faintest  doubt. 
It  is  by  God's  mercy  that  such  gleams  of  hope 
are  sent  to  strengthen  us  in  our  trials.  It  was 
very  foolish,  too;  for  something  might  easily 
have  prevented  the  doctor's  coming,  after  all. 

"  '  You  found  him  at  home,  then  ? '  I  inquired 
of  my  husband. 

"  Then  he  told  me,  in  an  undertone,  what  he 
had  done,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  wipe 
his  face  and  gather  breath  : 

"  '  I  ran  to  the  Children's  Hospital,  which  he 
manages,  hoping  to  find  him  there.  The  porter 
showed  me  a  low  door  at  the  end  of  the  court- 
yard. I  knocked  and  was  let  into  a  room  full  of 
young  fellows,  all  smoking,  talking  and  laughing 
away  at  a  great  rate.' 

"  Ah  !  the  wretches  !  and  with  dying  folks  all 
round  'em." 

"  Don't  say  that  until  you  know  all.  '  What 
do  you  want  here,  friend  ? '  says  a  tall  one  in  a 
white  apron  and  black  sleeves,  and  who,  seeing 


138  THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY. 

my  troubled  looks,  took  me  on  one  side.  *  What 's 
the  matter  ?  ' 

"  '  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you,  sir,'  I  began. 

"  *  No  ceremony,  man.     Speak  out.' 

"  '  I  'm  looking  for  Doctor  Faron,  to  come  and 
save  my  child,  sir.  He 's  dying  with  croup. 
I'm  not  rich,  but  all  I  can  raise  I  will  give.' 

"  '  Oh  !  that 's  all  right,'  says  he.  <  How  old 's 
the  child/ 

"  *  Four  years  old,  sir.' 

"  *  Who 's  been  attending  it  ? ' 

" '  A  doctor  who  gives  him  little  white  pills  in 
a  heap  of  water,  sir.' 

"  '  Ah  !  hah  ! '  says  he,  smiling ;  '  well,  don't 
be  downhearted,'  and  with  that  he  threw  off  his 
apron  and  black  sleeves,  and  wrote  something  on 
a  bit  of  paper.' 

"  Take  this  to  Doctor  Faron.  That 's  his  ad- 
dress. Where  do  you  live  ?  I  '11  come  when  J 
get  my  coat  on.' 

"  '  Oh  !  how  kind,  sir  ! ' 

"I  could  have  hugged  him.  But  he  said, 
'Come,  no  nonsense,  friend.  Away  with  you  ! ' 
So  I  hurried  off  to  Doctor  Faron's  house,  with 
the  note  ;  but  he  was  dining  out. 

"  '  Where  ? '  I  asked,  as  the  servant  held  the 
door  ajar. 

"'  Don't  know,'  says  he,  very  short ;  and  shut 
the  door  in  my  face. 

"  At  that  I  got  angry,  and  it  seemed  to  me  the 


THE    SEMPSTRESS*    STORY.  1 39 

child  came  before  my  eyes.  I  pushed  open  the 
door,  and  in  I  went. 

"'That  won't  do,'  I  said.  'One  of  the 
hospital  doctors  sent  me  here,  and  I  must  know 
where  to  find  your  master,  and  quick,  too. ' 

"  Seeing  that  I  wouldn't  stand  trifling,  he  gave 
me  the  direction,  and  growled,  *  Now  clear  out, 
and  shut  that  door.' 

"  So  I  rushed  away  to  the  Rue  de  Lille.  The 
courtyard  was  full  of  carriages,  and  the  windows 
all  in  a  blaze  of  light ;  but  in  I  went,  for  all  that. 

"  *  My  boy  will  die  ! — my  boy  will  die  ! '  I  kept 
repeating,  as  I  elbowed  thiough  the  people.  An 
old  servant  stopped  me  in  the  ante-chamber. 
'  Where  now  ? '  says  he. 

"  *  I  want  to  speak  to  Doctor  Faron,'  says  I ;  *  I 
must  speak  to  him.  Get  him  to  come  out  here, 
won't  you,  please  ? ' 

"  The  old  fellow  looked  at  me  hard,  and  then 
said  very  kindly,  *  Sit  down  there  an  instant,  and 
I  '11  try.' 

"  What  possessed  me  to  sit  there  and  cry, 
with  all  those  servants  hurrying  about  with 
plates  and  dishes,  I  can't  tell ;  but  I  could  n't 
help  it. 

"  In  a  minute  or  so,  here  comes  a  large  gentle- 
man with  a  white  cravat  on.  '  Where  's  the  man 
that  wants  me  ? '  he  asks  in  a  gruff  voice.  Then 
seeing  me  there  in  the  corner  in  such  a  state, 
with  a  searching  look  at  me,  he  took  the  note, 


140  THE   SEMPSTRESS     STORY. 

read  it,  and  said  quietly,  *  Ah !  the  noble  boy.' 
Then,  turning  to  me,  '  Go  home,  my  man ;  I  '11 
be  there  directly.  Cheer  up ;  I  '11  lose  no 
time/" 

"  My  husband  had  scarcely  uttered  these 
words,"  continued  Louise,  "  when  I  heard  a  step 
on  the  stairs.  It  was  he !  it  was  that  blessed 
angel  of  a  doctor  come  to  help  us  in  our  sore 
distress. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  he  said  in  his  deep 
voice  when  he  got  into  the  room  ? 

"  *  God  bless  you,  my  friends,  but  I  nearly 
broke  my  neck  on  those  stairs.  Where  's  that 
child  ? ' 

"  '  Here  he  is,  my  dear,  darling  doctor.'  I 
knew  no  better  way  to  speak  to  him,  with  his 
dress-cravat  showing  over  his  great  coat,  and  his 
decorations  dangling  like  a  little  bunch  of  keys 
at  his  buttonhole. 

"  He  took  off  his  wrappings,  stooped  over  the 
child,  turned  him  over,  more  gently  even  than 
his  mother  could  have  done,  and  laid  his  own 
head  first  against  his  back,  then  against  his 
breast.  How  I  tried  to  read  his  eyes  !  but  they 
know  how  to  hide  their  thoughts. 

"  *  We  must  perform  an  operation  here,'  says 
he  ;  '  and  it  is  high  time.' 

"  Just  at  this  moment  the  hospital  doctor  came 
in,  and  whispered  to  him,  '  I  am  afraid  you 
did  n't  want  to  be  disturbed,  sir.' 


THE    SEMPSTRESS     STORY.  141 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  I  am  sorry  it  was  n't  sooner, 
though.  Get  everything  ready  now.' 

"  But,  Ma'm'selle  Adele,  why  should  I  tell  you 
all  this  ?  I  'd  better  mind  my  work." 

"  Oh  !  go  on,  Louise,  go  on  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  ma'm'selle,  if  you  believe  me,, 
those  two  doctors — neither  of  'em  kin,  or  even 
friends  till  then — went  to  work  and  made  all  the 
preparations,  while  my  husband  went  off  to  bor- 
row lights.  The  biggest  one  tied  a  mattress  on 
the  table,  and  the  assistant  spread  out  the  bright 
little  knives. 

"  You,  who  have  not  been  through  it  all,  ma'm'- 
selle, can  't  know  what  it  is  to  have  your  own 
little  one  in  your  lap,  to  know  that  those  things 
are  to  be  used  upon  him,  to  pierce  his  tender 
flesh,  and,  if  the  hand  that  guides  them  be  not 
sure,  that  they  may  kill  him. 

"When  all  was  ready,  Doctor  Faron  took 
off  his  cravat,  then  lifted  my  child  from  my 
arms  and  laid  him  on  the  mattress,  in  the 
midst  of  the  lamps,  and  said  to  my  poor 
man : 

"  *  You  will  hold  his  head,  and  your  wife  his 
feet.  Joseph  will  pass  me  the  instruments. 
You  've  brought  a  breathing  tube  with  you,  my 
son?' 

"  *  Yes,  sir/ 

"  My  husband  was  as  white  as  a  sheet  by  this  ; 
and  when  I  saw  him  about  to  take  his  place  with 


142  THE    SEMPSTRESS     STORY. 

his  hands  shaking  so  much,  it  scared  me,  so  I 
said  : 

" '  Doctor,  please  let  me  hold  his  head  ! ' 

"  *  But,  my  poor  woman,  if  you  should  tremble  ? ' 

"  <  Please  let  me  do  it,  Doctor  ! ' 

"  '  Be  it  so  then/  and  then  added,  with  a  bright 
?ook  at  me,  and  a  cheering  smile,  '  we  shall  save 
him  for  you,  my  dear ;  you  are  a  brave  little 
woman,  and  you  deserve  it.' 

"  Yes,  and  save  him,  did  he  !  God  bless  him  ! 
saved  him  as  truly  as  if  he  had  snatched  him 
from  the  depths  of  the  river." 

"  And  you  did  n't  tremble,  Louise  ?  " 

"  You  may  depend  on  that.  If  I  had,  it  would 
have  been  the  last  of  my  child." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  keep  yourself 
steady  ? " 

"  The  Lord  knows  ;  but  I  was  like  a  rock. 
When  you  must,  you  must,  I  suppose." 

"  And  you  had  to  behold  every  detail  of  that 
operation  ? " 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  often  have  I  dreamed  it 
over  since.  His  poor  little  neck  laid  open,  and 
the  veins,  which  the  doctor  pushed  aside  with  his 
fingers  and  the  little  silver  tube  which  he  inserted, 
and  all  that;  and  then  the  face  of  the  child, 
changing  as  the  air  passed  into  his  lungs.  You  Ve 
seen  a  lamp  almost  out,  when  you  pour  in  oil  ? 
It  was  like  that.  They  had  laid  him  there  but 
half  alive,  with  his  eyes  all  but  set;  and  they 


THE   SEMPSTRESS     STORY.  143 

gave  him  back  to  me,  pale  and  with  bloodless 
lips,  it  is  true,  but  with  life  in  his  looks,  and 
breathing — breathing  the  free,  fresh  air. 

"  '  Kiss  him,  mother,'  says  the  doctor,  '  and  put 
him  to  bed.  Cover  the  place  with  some  light 
thing  or  other,  and  Joseph  must  stay  with  you  to- 
night ;  won't  you,  Joseph  ?  Ah,  well,  that 's  all 
arranged.' 

"  He  put  on  his  things  and  wrapped  himself  up 
to  go.  He  was  shaking  hands  with  my  husband, 
when  I  seized  one  hand,  and  kissed  it — like  a  fool, 
as  I  was — but  I  did  n't  stop  to  think.  He 
laughed  heartily,  and  said  to  my  husband,  *  Are 
you  not  jealous,  friend  ?  Your  wife  is  making 
great  advances  to  me.  But  I  must  be  off  now. 
Good-night,  good  people.' 

"  And  from  that  night  he  always  talks  so 
friendly  and  familiarly  to  us,  not  a  bit  contempt- 
uously either,  but  as  if  he  liked  us,  and  was  glad 
to  be  of  service  to  us. 

"  The  next  morning,  at  half-past  five,  there  he 
was,  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  and  larger,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  than  before.  And  no  wonder,  neither, 
for  don't  you  think  he  had  brought  four  bottles 
of  old  Bordeaux  !  two  in  his  pockets  and  two 
under  his  arms. 

"'The  little  fellow  must  take  this,1  says  he. 
*  Everything  gone  on  well  in  the  night,  eh  ? ' 

"  *  Admirably  well,  sir,'  answered  Mr.  Joseph. 
I  call  him  Mr.  Joseph,  but  I  have  since  found 


144  THE    SEMPSTRESS     STORV. 

out  that  he  was  a  rising  physician,  nephew  to 
the  old  doctor,  and  'way  above  the  common  run. 
But  he  always  spoke  to  the  other  like  a  soldier 
to  his  general. 

"  Well,  that 's  not  all  the  doctor  did  ;  for  dur- 
ing the  entire  week  after,  he  came  every  day, 
and  when  I  would  hear  his  carriage  rumbling 
over  our  poor  little  street,  I  would  say,  *  Heaven 
knows  what  we  shall  ever  do  to  pay  him.'  For 
we  well  knew  that  Doctor  Faron  attended  dukes 
and  noblemen,  and  charged  them  by  the  thousand. 

"We  had  some  hundred  francs  in  the  Savings, 
to  be  sure,  but  I  was  thinking  what  we  should 
do  if  he  charged  two  or  three  times  as  much. 
You  can  understand  how  very  awkward  it  would 
have  been.  It  fairly  made  me  sick. 

"  At  last,  one  morning  when  my  husband  was  at 
home,  I  mustered  up  all  my  courage  and  began  : 

" '  Doctor  Faron,  you  have  been  so  good,  too 
good  to  us.  You  have  saved  our  boy's  life.' 

"'You  may  prate  over  that  just  as  much  as 
you  please,  my  dear ;  but  recollect  it  is  my  trade 
to  cut  up  such  little  chaps.' 

"  '  But  not  those  who  live  au  dnquilme  in  the 
Rue  Serpente,  sir.' 

"  You  see,  ma'm'selle,  how  I  was  leading  up 
to  the  question  ? 

"  '  How 's  that  ?  how  's  that  ?  Why,  what  are 
you  talking  about  ?  Those  before  anybody  else, 
to  be  sure.  Are  they  not  most  in  need  ? ' 


THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY.  145 

"  '  I  know  you  have  the  best  heart  in  the  world, 
doctor ;  but  that 's  not  what  I  mean.  Now,  that 
the  child  is  well,  we  want  to. — we  are  not  rich — 
but  still—' 

"  By  this  time  I  was  as  red  as  a  cock's  comb, 
and  the  more  I  tried  to  express  myself  the  worse 
it  got. 

"  *  You  want  to  pay  me.  I  see,  I  see,'  said  he 
suddenly.  *  Well,  you  owe  me  precisely  nothing, 
if  you  don't  think  that  too  much/ 

"  '  Oh  !  doctor  !  we  could  n't — we  must — ' 

"  'Let  us  pay  according  to  our  means,  doctor,' 
says  my  husband. 

"Well,  then,  I  don't  want  to  wound  you,  my 
friends.  If  you  prefer  to  pay  something,  my 
charge  is  just  fifty  francs.  And  now  don't  bother 
me  any  more  about  it.  (He  pretended  to  be 
angry,  and  it  was  so  droll.)  Don't  bother  me,  I 
say,  you  lunatics.  Fifty  francs,  I  tell  you,  and 
not  a  copper  less  ;  in  specie,  too ;  no  paper 
money  for  me.  Next  Sunday  dress  the  little 
man,  and  have  him  ready ;  for  I  wish  him  to  take 
a  turn  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.' 

"  Ah  !  there  's  no  end  to  your  kindness,  doctor.' 

"  *  Do  n't  interrupt  me,  I  say.  After  his  drive, 
bring  him  to  see  me;  and  let  him  fetch  the 
money  himself.  Do  you  hear  ? ' 

"  Well,  ma'm'selle,"  added  Louise,  "  that  very 
evening  here  comes  a  basket  of  wine,  although 
we  had  n't  finished  the  other.  What  a  man! 
10 


146  THE  SEMPSTRESS'  STORY. 

you  may  well  say.  And  I  declare  to  you,  if  he 
had  wanted  my  right  arm,  I  should  have  said, 
*  Cut  it  off,  sir.' 

"  Fifty  francs,  indeed  !  It  was  n't  the  twentieth 
of  what  we  owed  him  ;  and  he  only  took  that  to 
save  our  feelings.  And  seeing  this,  I  was  still 
more  anxious  to  please  him  ;  so  I  bought  some 
linen,  the  finest  I  could  get,  and  did  n't  I  make 
him  an  elegant  set  of  shirts  !  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  get  his  measure  ?  " 

"  Ah !  that  was  hard  ;  but  when  I  make  up  my 
mind  nothing  stops  me.  I  went  to  his  valet — 
who  knew  me,  because  he  had  brought  the  wine 
— and  I  told  him  the  doctor  wanted  me  to  look 
over  his  linen  in  the  wash.  So  I  got  to  the  laun- 
dress, and  I  made  her  think  he  had  ordered 
some  shirts  like  those  she  had  in  hand,  and  so  I 
got  the  pattern. 

"  I  was  full  of  work  at  that  time,  but  I  made 
all  those  shirts  at  night ;  and  it  gave  me  such 
satisfaction  to  think,  '  Ah !  you  won't  let  us  pay 
you — you  obstinate  man — but  you  can't  prevent 
my  sitting  up  and  working  for  you  the  livelong 
night ;  and  the  way  I  worked !  you  should  have 
seen  me  at  it ! 

"You  may  depend  on  it  there  was  plenty  of 
hemstitching  on  those  shirts,  and  you  know  when 
I  try  I  can  hemstitch. 

"  But  I  am  trifling  away  my  time,  and  this  dress 
will  never  be  done," 


THE  VENUS  OF  ILLE 

BY 

PROSPER  MERIMfiE 


From  "  Tales  Before  Supper."    Translated  by  Edgar 
Saltus.    Published  by  Brentano's. 


Copyright,  1887,  by  Brentantfs. 


THE  VENUS  OF  ILLE 

JT/lecy?  ijv  Styw,  e'ffru)  6  avdpia$ 
xai  //Tree?,  oorws  avdpeHos  cuv. 

Aouxtavou    (friX 

BY   PROSPER   MERIM&E 

I  WAS  descending  the  last  slope  of  the  Ca- 
nigou,  and  though  the  sun  was  already  set 
I  could  distinguish  on  the  plain  the  houses  of 
the  small  town  of  Ille,  towards  which  I  directed 
my  steps. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said  to  the  Catalan  who  since 
the  day  before  served  as  my  guide,  "  you  know 
where  M.  de  Peyrehorade  lives  ? " 

"  Just  don't  I !  "  cried  he  ;  "I  know  his  house 
like  my  own,  and  if  it  were  not  so  dark  I  would 
show  it  to  you.  It  is  the  finest  in  Ille.  He  is 
rich,  M.  de  Peyrehorade  is,  and  he  marries  his 
son  to  one  richer  even  than  he." 

"  Does  the  marriage  come  off  soon  ?  "  I  asked 
him. 

"  Soon  ?  It  may  be  that  the  violins  are  al- 
ready ordered  for  the  wedding.  To-night  per- 
haps, to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  how  do  I  know  ? 

149 


150  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

It  will  take  place  at  Puygarrig,  for  it  is  Mademoi- 
selle de  Puygarrig  that  the  son  is  to  marry.  It 
will  be  a  sight,  I  can  tell  you." 

I  was  recommended  to  M.  de  Peyrehorade  by 
my  friend  M.  de  P.  He  was,  I  had  been  told, 
an  antiquarian  of  much  learning  and  a  man  of 
charming  affability.  He  would  take  delight  in 
showing  me  the  ruins  for  ten  leagues  around. 
Therefore  I  counted  on  him  to  visit  the  outskirts 
of  Hie,  which  I  knew  to  be  rich  in  memorials  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  This  marriage,  of  which  I 
now  heard  for  the  first  time,  upset  all  my  plans. 

"  I  shall  be  a  troublesome  guest,  I  told  myself. 
But  I  am  expected  ;  my  arrival  has  been  an- 
nounced by  M.  de  P. ;  I  must  present  my- 
self." 

When  we  reached  the  plain  the  guide  said, 
"Wager  a  cigar,  sir,  that  I  can  guess  what  you 
are  going  to  do  at  M.  de  Peyrehorade's.'' 

Offering  him  one,  I  answered  :  "  It  is  not  very 
hard  to  guess.  At  this  hour,  when  one  has  made 
six  leagues  in  the  Canigou,  supper  is  the  great 
thing  after  all." 

"  Yes,  but  to-morrow  ?  Here  I  wager  that  you 
have  come  to  Hie  to  see  the  idol.  I  guessed 
that  when  I  saw  you  draw  the  portraits  of  the 
saints  at  Serrabona." 

"The  idol!  what  idol?"  This  word  had 
aroused  my  curiosity. 

"  What  1  were  you  not  told  at  Perpignan  how 


THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE.  1 51 

iM.  de   Peyrehorade   had  found   an  idol   in  the 
earth  ? " 

"  You  mean  to  say  an  earthen  statue  ? " 
"  Not  at  all.  A  statue  in  copper,  and  there  is 
enough  of  it  to  make  a  lot  of  big  pennies.  She 
weighs  as  much  as  a  church-bell.  It  was  deep 
in  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  an  olive  tree  that  we 
got  her." 

"  You  were  present  at  the  discovery  ? " 
u  Yes,  sir.  Two  weeks  ago  M.  de  Peyreho- 
rade told  Jean  Coll  and  me  to  uproot  an  old 
olive  tree  which  was  frozen  last  year  when  the 
weather  as  you  know  was  very  severe.  So  in 
working,  Jean  Coll,  who  went  at  it  with  all  his 
might,  gave  a  blow  with  his  pickaxe,  and  I  heard 
bimm — as  if  he  had  struck  a  bell,  and  I  said, 
What  is  that  ?  We  dug  on  and  on,  and  there  was 
a  black  hand,  which  looked  like  the  hand  of  a 
corpse,  sticking  out  of  the  earth.  I  was  scared 
to  death.  I  ran  to  M.  de  Peyrehorade  and  I 
said  to  him,  '  There  are  dead  people,  master, 
under  the  olive  tree  !  The  priest  must  be  called/ 
"  '  What  dead  people  ? '  said  he  to  me.  He 
came,  and  he  had  no  sooner  seen  the  hand,  than 
he  cried  out  '  An  antique  !  an  antique  ! '  You 
would  have  thought  he  had  found  a  treasure. 
And  there  he  was  with  the  pickaxe  in  his  own 
hands,  struggling  and  doing  almost  as  much  work 
as  we  two." 

"  And  at  last  what  did  you  find  ?  " 


152  THE  VENUS  OF  ILLE. 

"  A  huge  black  woman  more  than  half  naked, 
with  due  respect  to  you,  sir.  She  was  all  in 
copper,  and  M.  de  Peyrehorade  told  us  it  was 
an  idol  of  pagan  times — the  time  of  Charle- 
magne." 

"  I  see  what  it  is, — some  virgin  or  other  in 
bronze  from  a  destroyed  convent." 

"  A  virgin  !  Had  it  been  one  I  should  have  rec- 
ognized it.  It  is  an  idol,  I  tell  you ;  you  can 
see  it  in  her  look.  She  fixes  you  with  her  great 
white  eyes — one  might  say  she  stares  at  you.  One 
lowers  one's  eyes,  yes  indeed  one  does,  on  look- 
ing at  her." 

"  White  eyes  ?  Doubtless  they  are  set  in  the 
bronze.  Perhaps  it  is  some  Roman  statue." 

"  Roman  !  That 's  it.  M.  de  Peyrehorade 
says  it  is  Roman.  Oh  !  I  see  you  are  an  eru- 
dite like  himself." 

"  Is  she  complete,  well  preserved  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  she  lacks  nothing.  It  is  a  hand- 
somer .statue  and  better  finished  than  the  bust  of 
Louis  Philippe  in  colored  plaster  which  is  in 
the  town-hall.  But  with  all  that  the  face 
of  the  idol  does  not  please  me.  She  has  a 
wicked  expression, — and,  what  is  more,  she  is 
wicked." 

"  Wicked  !  what  has  she  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing  to  me  exactly ;  but  wait  a  minute. 
We  had  gotten  down  on  all-fours  to  stand  her 
upright,  and  M.  de  Peyrehorade  was  also  pull- 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  153 

ing  on  the  rope,  though  he  has  not  much  more 
strength  than  a  chicken.  With  much  trouble  we 
got  her  up  straight.  I  reached  for  a  broken  tile 
to  support  her,  when  if  she  does  n't  tumble  over 
backwards  ail  in  a  heap.  I  said,  '  Take  care, ' 
but  not  quick  enough,  for  Jean  did  not  have  time 
to  draw  away  his  leg — " 

"  And  it  was  hurt  ? " 

"Broken  as  clean  as  a  vine-prop.  When  I 
saw  that  I  was  furious,  I  wanted  to  take  my  pick- 
axe and  smash  the  statue  to  pieces,  but  M.  de 
Peyrehorade  stopped  me.  He  gave  Jean  Coll 
some  money,  but  all  the  same,  he  is  in  bed  still, 
though  it  is  two  weeks  since  it  happened,  and  the 
physician  says  that  he  will  never  walk  as  well 
with  that  leg  as  with  the  other.  It  is  a  pity,  for 
he  was  our  best  runner,  and,  after  M.  de  Peyre- 
horade's  son,  the  cleverest  racquet  player.  M. 
Alphonse  de  Peyrehorade  was  sorry  I  can  tell 
you,  for  Coll  always  played  on  his  side.  It  was 
beautiful  to  see  how  they  returned  each  other  the 
balls.  They  never  touched  the  ground." 

Chatting  in  this  way  we  entered  Ille,  and  I 
soon  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  M.  de  Pey- 
rehorade. He  was  a  little  old  man,  still  hale 
and  active,  with  powdered  hair,  a  red  nose,  and 
a  jovial,  bantering  manner.  Before  opening  M. 
de  P.'s  letter  he  had  seated  me  at  a  well-spread 
table,  and  had  presented  me  to  his  wife  and  son 
a3  a  celebrated  archaeologist  who  was  to  draw 


154  THE  VENUS   OF  1LLE. 

Roussillon  from  the  neglect  in  which  the  indif- 
ference of  erudites  had  left  it. 

While  eating  heartily — for  nothing  makes  one 
hungrier  than  the  keen  air  of  the  mountains — I 
scrutinized  my  hosts.  I  have  said  a  word  about 
M.  de  Peyrehorade,  I  must  add  that  he  was  ac- 
tivity personified.  He  talked,  got  up,  ran  to  his 
library,  brought  me  books,  showed  me  engravings, 
and  rilled  my  glass,  all  at  the  same  time.  He  was 
never  two  minutes  in  repose.  His  wife  was  a 
trifle  stout,  as  are  most  Catalans  when  they  are 
over  forty  years  of  age.  She  appeared  to  me  a 
thorough  provincial,  solely  occupied  with  her 
housekeeping.  Though  the  supper  was  sufficient 
for  at  least  six  persons,  she  hurried  to  the  kitchen 
and  had  pigeons  killed  and  a  number  broiled, 
and  she  opened  I  do  not  know  how  many  jars  of 
preserves.  In  no  time  the  table  was  laden  with 
dishes  and  bottles,  and  if  I  had  but  tasted  of 
everything  offered  me  I  should  certainly  have 
died  of  indigestion.  Nevertheless,  at  each  dish 
I  refused  they  made  fresh  excuses.  They  feared 
I  found  myself  very  badly  off  at  Ille.  In  the 
provinces  there  were  so  few  resources,  and  of 
course  Parisians  were  fastidious  ! 

In  the  midst  of  his  parents'  comings  and 
goings  M.  Alphonse  de  Peyrehorade  was  as  im- 
movable as  rent-day.  He  was  a  tall  young  man 
of  twenty-six  with  a  regular  and  handsome  coun- 
tenance, but  lacking  in  expression.  His  height 


THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE.  155 

and  his  athletic  figure  well  justified  the  reputa- 
tion of  an  indefatigable  racquet  player  given  him 
in  the  neighborhood. 

On  that  evening  he  was  dressed  in  an  elegant 
manner  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  was  an  exact  copy  of 
a  fashion  plate  in  the  last  number  of  the  Jour- 
nal des  Modes.  But  he  seemed  to  me  ill  at 
ease  in  his  clothes  ;  he  was  as  stiff  as  a  post  in 
his  velvet  collar,  and  could  only  turn  all  of  a 
piece.  In  striking  contrast  to  his  costume  were 
his  large  sunburnt  hands  and  blunt  nails.  They 
were  a  laborer's  hands  issuing  from  the  sleeves 
of  an  exquisite.  Moreover,  though  he  examined 
me  in  my  quality  of  Parisian  most  curiously  from 
head  to  foot,  he  only  spoke  to  me  once  during 
the  whole  evening,  and  that  was  to  ask  me  where 
I  had  bought  my  watch-chain. 

As  the  supper  was  drawing  to  an  end  M.  de 
Peyrehorade  said  to  me  :  "  Ah  !  my  dear  guest, 
you  belong  to  me  now  you  are  here.  I  shall  not 
let  go  of  you  until  you  have  seen  everything  of 
interest  in  our  mountains.  You  must  learn  to 
know  our  Roussillon,  and  to  do  it  justice.  You 
do  not  suspect  all  that  we  have  to  show  you^ — 
Phoenician,  Celtic,  Roman,  Arabian,  and  By- 
zantine monuments  ;  you  shall  see  them  all  from 
the  cedar  to  the  hyssop.  I  shall  drag  you  every- 
where, and  will  not  spare  you  a  single  stone." 

A  fit  of  coughing  obliged  him  to  pause.  I 
took  advantage  of  it  to  tell  him  that  I  should  be 


156  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

sorry  to  disturb  him  on  an  occasion  of  so  much 
interest  to  his  family.  If  he  would  but  give  me 
his  excellent  advice  about  the  excursions  to  be 
made,  I  could  manage,  without  his  taking  the 
trouble  to  accompany  me. 

"  Ah !  you  mean  the  marriage  of  that  boy 
there,"  he  exclaimed,  interrupting  me;  "stuff 
and  nonsense,  it  will  be  over  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. You  will  go  to  the  wedding  with  us, 
which  is  to  be  informal,  as  the  bride  is  in  mourn- 
ing for  an  aunt  whose  heiress  she  is.  Therefore, 
there  will  be  no  festivities,  no  ball.  It  is  a  pity, 
though  ;  you  might  have  seen  our  Catalans  dance. 
They  are  pretty,  and  might  have  given  you  the 
desire  to  imitate  Alphonse.  One  marriage,  they 
say,  leads  to  another.  Once  the  young  people 
married  I  shall  be  free,  and  we  will  bestir  our- 
selves. I  beg  your  pardon  for  boring  you  with  a 
provincial  wedding.  For  a  Parisian  tired  of  en- 
tertainments— and  a  wedding  without  a  ball  at 
that !  Still  you  will  see  a  bride — a  bride — well, 
you  shall  tell  me  what  you  think  of  her.  But 
you  are  a  thinker  and  no  longer  notice  women. 
I  have  better  than  that  to  show  you.  You  shall 
see  something ;  in  fact,  I  have  a  fine  surprise  in 
store  for  you  to-morrow." 

"Good  heavens!"  said  I;  "it  is  difficult  to 
have  a  treasure  in  the  house  without  the  public 
being  aware  of  it.  I  think  I  know  the  surprise 
in  reserve  for  me.  But  if  it  is  your  statue  which 


THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE.  157 

is  in  question,  the  description  my  guide  gave  me 
of  it  has  only  served  to  excite  my  curiosity  and 
prepared  me  to  admire." 

"  Ah  !  So  he  spoke  to  you  about  the  idol,  as 
he  calls  my  beautiful  Venus  Tur  ;  but  I  will  tell 
you  nothing.  To-morrow  you  shall  see  her  by 
daylight,  and  tell  me  if  I  am  right  in  thinking 
the  statue  a  masterpiece.  You  could  not  have 
arrived  more  opportunely.  There  are  inscrip- 
tions on  it  which  I,  poor  ignoramus  that  I  am, 
explain  after  my  own  fashion  ;  but  you,  a  Paris- 
ian erudite,  will  probably  laugh  at  my  interpreta- 
tion ;  for  I  have  actually  written  a  paper  about 
it, — I,  an  old  provincial  antiquary,  have  launched 
myself  in  literature.  I  wish  to  make  the  press 
groan.  If  you  would  kindly  read  and  correct  it 
I  might  have  some  hope.  For  example,  I  am 
very  anxious  to  know  how  you  translate  this  in- 
scription from  the  base  of  the  statue :  CAVE. 
But  I  do  not  wish  to  ask  you  yet !  Wait  until 
to-morrow.  Not  a  word  more  ahout  the  Venus 
to-day !  " 

"  You  are  right,  Peyrehorade,"  said  his  wife; 
"  drop  your  idol.  Can  you  not  see  that  you  pre- 
vent our  guest  from  eating  ?  You  may  be  sure 
that  he  has  seen  in  Paris  much  finer  statues  than 
yours.  In  the  Tuilleries  there  are  dozens,  and 
they  also  are  in  bronze." 

"  There  you  have  the  saintly  ignorance  of  the 
provinces  I "  interrupted  M.  de  Peyrehorade. 


158  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

"  The  idea  of  comparing  an  admirable  antique 
to  the  insipid  figures  of  Coustou  ! 

'  How  irreverently  my  housekeeper 
Speaks  of  the  gods ! ' 

Do  you  know  that  my  wife  wanted  me  to  melt  my 
statue  into  a  bell  for  our  church.  She  would 
have  been  the  godmother.  Just  think  of  it,  to 
melt  a  masterpiece  by  Myron,  sir !  " 

"  Masterpiece  !  Masterpiece  !  A  charming 
masterpiece  she  is  !  to  break  a  man's  leg." 

"  Madam,  do  you  see  that  ? "  said  M.  de  Pey- 
rehorade  in  a  resolute  tone,  extending  toward  her 
his  right  leg  in  its  changeable  silk  stocking ;  "  if 
my  Venus  had  broken  that  leg  there  for  me  I 
should  not  regret  it." 

"  Good  gracious  !  Peyrehorade,  how  can  you 
say  such  a  thing !  Fortunately,  the  man  is  better. 
And  yet  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  look  at  a  statue 
which  has  caused  so  great  a  disaster.  Poor  Jean 
Coll ! " 

"  Wounded  by  Venus,  sir,"  said  M.  de  Peyre- 
horade, with  a  loud  laugh  ;  "  wounded  by  Venus, 
and  the  churl  complains  ! 

'  Veneris  nee  praemia  n6ris.' 

Who  has  not  been  wounded  by  Venus  ?" 

M.  Alphonse,  who  understood  French  better 
than  Latin,  winked  one  eye  with  an  air  of  intel- 
ligence, and  looked  at  me  as  if  to  ask,  "  And  you, 
Parisian,  do  you  understand  ? " 


THE   VENUS    OF   ILLE.  159 

The  supper  came  to  an  end.  I  had  ceased 
eating  an  hour  before.  I  was  weary,  and  I  could 
not  manage  to  hide  the  frequent  yawns  which 
escaped  me.  Madame  de  Peyrehorade  was  the 
first  to  notice  them,  and  remarked  that  it  was 
time  to  go  to  bed.  Then  followed  fresh  apolo- 
gies for  the  poor  accommodations  I  would  have. 
I  would  not  be  as  well  off  as  in  Paris.  It  was 
so  uncomfortable  in  the  provinces  !  Indulgence 
was  needed  for  the  Roussillonnais.  Notwith- 
standing my  protests  that  after  a  tramp  in  the 
mountains  a  bundle  of  straw  would  seem  to  me  a 
delicious  couch,  they  continued  begging  me  to 
pardon  poor  country  people  if  they  did  not  treat 
me  as  well  as  they  could  have  wished. 

Accompanied  by  M.  de  Peyrehorade  I  ascended 
at  last  to  the  room  arranged  for  me.  The  stair- 
case, the  upper  half  of  which  was  in  wood,  ended 
in  the  centre  of  a  hall,  out  of  which  opened 
several  rooms. 

"  To  the  right,"  said  my  host,  "  is  the  apart- 
ment which  I  propose  to  give  the  future  Madame 
Alphonse.  Your  room  is  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  corridor.  You  understand,"  he  added  in  a 
manner  which  he  meant  to  be  sly, — "  you  under- 
stand that  newly  married  people  must  be  alone. 
You  are  at  one  end  of  the  house,  they  at  the 
other." 

We  entered  a  well-furnished  room  where  the 
first  object  on  which  my  gaze  rested  was  a  bed 


160  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

seven  feet  long,  six  wide,  and  so  high  that  one 
needed  a  chair  to  climb  up  into  it. 

Having  shown  me  where  the  bell  was,  and  as- 
sured himself  that  the  sugar-bowl  was  full  and 
the  cologne  bottles  duly  placed  on  the  toilet- 
stand,  my  host  asked  me  a  number  of  times  if 
anything  was  lacking,  wished  me  good-night,  and 
left  me  alone. 

The  windows  were  closed.  Before  undressing 
I  opened  one  to  breathe  the  fresh,  night  air  so  de- 
lightful after  a  long  supper.  Facing  me  was  the 
Canigou.  Always  magnificent,  it  appeared  to  me 
on  that  particular  evening,  lighted  as  it  was  by  a 
resplendent  moon,  as  the  most  beautiful  mountain 
in  the  world.  I  remained  a  few  minutes  con- 
templating its  marvellous  silhouette,  and  was 
about  to  close  the  window  when,  lowering  my 
eyes,  I  perceived  a  dozen  yards  from  the  house, 
the  statue  on  its  pedestal.  It  was  placed  at  the 
corner  of  a  hedge  that  separated  a  small  garden 
from  a  vast,  perfectly  level  quadrangle,  which  I 
learned  later  was  the  racquet  court  of  the  town. 
This  ground  was  the  property  of  M.  de  Peyre- 
horade,  and  had  been  given  by  him  to  the  parish 
at  the  solicitation  of  his  son. 

Owing  to  the  distance  it  was  difficult  for  me  to 
distinguish  the  attitude  of  the  statue  ;  I  could 
only  judge  of  its  height,  which  seemed  to  be  about 
six  feet.  At  that  moment  two  scamps  of  the 
town,  whistling  the  pretty  Roussillon  tune,  Mon- 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  l6l 

tagnes  rtgalades,  were  crossing  the  racquet  court 
quite  near  the  hedge.  They  paused  to  look  at 
the  statue,  and  one  of  them  even  apostrophized 
it  aloud.  He  spoke  Catalonian,  but  I  had  been 
long  enough  in  Roussillon  to  understand  pretty 
well  what  he  said. 

"There  you  are,  you  wench!"  (The  Cata- 
lonian word  was  much  more  forcible.)  "  There 
you  are  !  "  he  said.  "  It  was  you  then  who  broke 
Jean  Coil's  leg !  If  you  belonged  to  me  I  'd 
break  your  neck." 

"Bah!  what  with?"  said  the  other  youth. 
"  It  is  of  the  copper  of  pagan  times,  and  harder 
than  I  don't  know  what." 

"  If  I  had  my  chisel "  (it  seems  he  was  a  lock- 
smith's apprentice),  "  I  would  soon  force  out  its 
big  white  eyes,  as  I  would  pop  an  almond  from 
its  shell.  There  are  more  than  a  hundred  pen- 
nies' worth  of  silver  in  them." 

They  went  on  a  few  steps. 

"  I  must  wish  the  idol  good-night,"  said  the 
taller  of  the  apprentices,  stopping  suddenly. 

He  stooped  and  probably  picked  up  a  stone. 
I  saw  him  unbend  his  arm  and  throw  something. 
A  blow  resounded  on  the  bronze,  and  immediately 
the  apprentice  raised  his  hand  to  his  head  with  a 
cry  of  pain. 

"  She  threw  it  back  at  me  ! "  he  exclaimed. 
And  my  two  rascals  ran  off  as  fast  as  they  could. 

It  was  evident   that  the  stone  had  rebounded 
II 


1 62  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

from  the  metal  and  had  punished  the  wag  for  the 
outrage  he  had  done  the  goddess.  Laughing 
heartily,  I  shut  the  window. 

Another  Vandal  punished  by  Venus  !  May  all 
the  desecrators  of  our  old  monuments  thus  get 
their  due ! 

With  this  charitable  wish  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  broad  day.  On  one  side 
of  my  bed  stood  M.  de  Peyrehorade  in  a  dressing- 
gown  ;  a  servant  sent  by  his  wife  was  on  the 
other  side  with  a  cup  of  chocolate  in  his  hand. 

"  Come,  come,  you  Parisian,  get  up  !  This  is 
qnite  the  laziness  of  the  capital  ! "  said  my  host, 
while  I  dressed  in  haste.  "  It  is  eight  o'clock, 
and  you  are  still  in  bed  !  I  have  been  up  since 
six.  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  been  to  your 
door.  I  approached  on  tiptoe  :  no  one,  not  a 
sign  of  life.  It  is  bad  for  you  to  sleep  too  much 
at  your  age.  And  my  Venus,  which  you  have 
not  yet  seen  !  Come,  hurry  up  and  take  this  cup 
of  Barcelona  chocolate.  It  is  real  contraband 
chocolate,  such  as  cannot  be  found  in  Paris.  Pre- ' 
pare  yourself,  for  when  you  are  once  before  my 
Venus  no  one  will  be  able  to  tear  you  away  from 
her." 

I  was  ready  in  five  minutes ;  that  is  to  say,  I 
was  half  shaved,  half  dressed,  and  burned  by  the 
boiling  chocolate  I  had  swallowed.  I  descended 
to  the  garden  and  saw  an  admirable  statue  be- 
fore me.  It  was  truly  a  Venus,  and  of  marvel- 


THE  VENUS   OF   ILLE.  163 

lous  beauty.  The  upper  part  of  the  body  was 
nude,  as  great  divinities  were  usually  represented 
by  the  ancients.  The  right  hand  was  raised  as 
high  as  the  breast,  the  palm  turned  inwards,  the 
thumb  and  two  first  fingers  extended,  and  the 
others  slightly  bent.  The  other  hand,  drawn 
close  to  the  hip,  held  the  drapery  which  covered 
the  lower  half  of  the  body.  The  attitude  of  this 
statue  reminded  one  of  that  of  the  mourre  player 
which  is  called,  I  hardly  know  why,  by  the  name 
of  Germanicus.  Perhaps  it  had  been  intended 
to  represent  the  goddess  as  playing  at  mourre. 
However  that  may  be,  it  is  impossible  to  find 
anything  more  perfect  than  the  form  of  this 
Venus,  anything  softer  and  more  voluptuous  than 
her  outlines,  or  more  graceful  and  dignified  than 
her  drapery.  I  had  expected  a  work  of  the  de- 
cadence ;  I  saw  a  masterpiece  of  statuary's  best 
days. 

What  struck  me  most  was  the  exquisite  reality 
of  the  figure  ;  one  might  have  thought  it  moulded 
from  life,  that  is,  if  Nature  ever  produced  such 
perfect  models. 

The  hair,  drawn  back  from  the  brow,  seemed 
once  to  have  been  gilded.  The  head  was  small, 
like  nearly  all  those  of  Greek  statues,  and  bent 
slightly  forward.  As  to  the  face,  I  shall  never 
succeed  in  describing  its  strange  character;  it 
was  of  a  type  belonging  to  no  other  Greek  statue 
which  I  can  remember.  It  had  not  the  calm, 


1 64  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

severe  beauty  of  the  Greek  sculptors,  who  syste- 
matically gave  a  majestic  immobility  to  all  the 
features.  On  the  contrary,  I  noticed  here,  with 
surprise,  a  marked  intention  on  the  artist's  part 
to  reproduce  malice  verging  on  viciousness.  All 
the  features  were  slightly  contracted.  The  eyes 
were  rather  oblique,  the  mouth  raised  at  the  cor- 
ners, the  nostrils  a  trifle  dilated.  Disdain,  irony, 
and  cruelty  were  to  be  read  in  the  nevertheless 
beautiful  face. 

Truly,  the  more  one  gazed  at  the  statue  the 
more  one  experienced  a  feeling  of  pain  that  such 
wonderful  beauty  could  be  allied  to  such  an  ab- 
sence of  all  sensibility. 

"  If  the  model  ever  existed,"  I  said  to  M.  de 
Peyrehorade,  "  and  I  doubt  if  heaven  ever  pro- 
duced such  a  woman,  how  I  pity  her  lovers  !  She 
must  have  taken  pleasure  in  making  them  die  of 
despair.  There  is  something  ferocious  in  her  ex- 
pression, and  yet  I  have  never  seen  anything 
more  beautiful." 

"  *  Cest  Venus  tout  entiere  b  sa proie attachee ! '  * 
bried  M.  de  Peyrehorade,  delighted  with  my  en- 
thusiasm. 

But  the  expression  of  demoniac  irony  was  per- 
haps increased  by  the  contrast  of  the  bright  silver 
eyes  with  the  dusky  green  hue  which  time  had 
given  to  the  statue.  The  shining  eyes  produced 
a  sort  of  illusion  which  simulated  reality  and  life. 
I  remembered  what  my  guide  had  said,  that  those 


THE   VENUS   OF    ILLE.  1 6$ 

who  looked  at  her  were  forced  to  lower  their  eyes. 
It  was  almost  true,  and  I  could  not  prevent  a 
movement  of  anger  at  myself  when  I  felt  ill  at 
ease  before  this  bronze  figure. 

"  Now  that  you  have  seen  everything  in  detail, 
my  dear  colleague  in  antiquities,  let  us,  if  you 
please,  open  a  scientific  conference.  What  do 
you  say  to  this  inscription  which  you  have  not 
yet  noticed?"  He  pointed  to  the  base  of  the 
statue,  and  I  read  these  words  : 

CAVE  AMANTEM. 

"  Quid  dicis  doctissime?  "  he  asked,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  Let  us  see  if  we  agree  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  cave  amantem  !  " 

"  But,"  I  replied,  "  it  has  two  meanings.  You 
can  translate  it :  '  Guard  against  him  who  loves 
thee,'  that  is,  '  distrust  lovers.'  But  in  this  sense 
I  do  not  know  if  cave  amantem  would  be  good 
Latin.  After  seeing  the  diabolical  expression  of 
the  lady  I  should  sooner  believe  that  the  artist 
meant  to  warn  the  spectator  against  this  terrible 
beauty.  I  should  then  translate  it :  '  Take  care  of 
thyself  if  she  loves  thee.'  " 

"  Humph  !  "  said  M.  de  Peyrehorade  ;  "  yes,  it 
is  an  admissible  meaning :  but,  if  you  do  not 
mind,  I  prefer  the  first  translation,  which  I  would, 
however,  develop.  You  know  Venus's  lover  ?  " 

"There  are  several." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  first  is  Vulcan.     Why  should 


1 66  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

it  not  mean  :  '  Notwithstanding  all  thy  beauty, 
thine  air  of  disdain,  thou  wilt  have  a  blacksmith, 
a  wretched  cripple  for  a  lover'?  A  profound 
lesson,  sir,  for  coquettes  !  " 

The  explication  seemed  so  far-fetched  that  I 
could  not  help  smiling. 

To  avoid  formally  contradicting  my  antiquarian 
friend,  I  observed,  "  Latin  is  a  terrible  language 
in  its  conciseness,"  and  I  drew  back  several  steps 
to  better  contemplate  the  statue. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  colleague  ! "  said  M.  de 
Peyrehorade,  catching  hold  of  my  arm;  "you 
have  not  seen  all.  There  is  another  inscription. 
Climb  up  on  the  pedestal  and  look  at  the  right 
arm."  So  saying,  he  helped  me  up,  and  without 
much  ceremony  I  clung  to  the  neck  of  the  Venus 
with  whom  I  was  becoming  more  familiar.  For 
a  second  I  even  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes, 
and  on  close  inspection  she  appeared  more 
wicked,  and,  if  possible,  more  beautiful  than  be- 
fore. Then  I  noticed  that  on  the  arm  were 
engraved,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  characters  in 
ancient  script.  With  the  aid  of  my  spectacles  I 
spelt  out  what  follows,  and  M.  de  Peyrehorade, 
approving  with  voice  and  gesture,  repeated  each 
word  as  I  uttered  it.  Thus  I  read : 

VENERI  TVRBVL  . 
EVTVCHES  MYRO. 
IMPERIO  FECIT. 


THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE.  167 

After  the  word  "  Tvrbvl  "  in  the  first  line  it 
looked  to  me  as  if  there  were  several  letters  ef- 
faced ;  but  "  Tvrbvl  "  was  perfectly  legible. 

"  Which  means  to  say  ?  "  my  host  asked  radi- 
antly, with  a  mischievous  smile,  for  he  thought 
the  "  Tvrbvl "  would  puzzle  me. 

"  There  is  one  word  which  I  do  not  yet  undei- 
stand,"  I  answered ;  "  all  the  rest  is  simple. 
Eutyches  Myron  has  made  this  offering  to  Venus 
by  her  command." 

"Quite  right  But  'Tvrbvl,'  what  do  you 
make  of  it  ?  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  *  Tvrbvl  '  perplexes  me  very  much.  I  am  try- 
ing to  think  of  one  of  Venus's  familiar  character- 
istics which  may  enlighten  me.  But  what  do  you 
say  to  '  Tvrbvlenta  '  ?  The  Venus  who  troubles, 
agitates.  You  see  I  am  still  preoccupied  by  her 
wicked  expression.  '  Tvrbvlenta  '  is  not  too  bad 
a  quality  for  Venus,"  I  added  modestly,  for  I  was 
not  too  well  satisfied  with  my  explanation. 

"  A  turbulent  Venus  !  A  noisy  Venus  !  Ah  ! 
then  you  think  my  Venus  is  a  public-house  Venus  ? 
Nothing  of  the  kind,  sir;  she  is  a  Venus  of  good 
society.  I  will  explain  *  Tvrbvl '  to  you — that  is, 
if  you  promise  me  not  to  divulge  my  discovery 
before  my  article  appears  in  print.  Because,  you 
see,  I  pride  myself  on  such  a  find,  and,  after  all, 
you  Parisian  erudites  are  rich  enough  to  leave  a 
few  ears  for  us  poor  devils  of  provincials  to 
glean  1 " 


1 68  THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE. 

From  the  top  of  the  pedestal,  where  I  was  still 
perched,  I  promised  him  solemnly  that  I  would 
never  be  so  base  as  to  filch  from  him  his  dis- 
covery. 

"  '  Tvrbvl,' — sir,"  said  he,  coming  nearer  and 
lowering  his  voice  for  fear  some  one  besides 
myself  might  hear  him,  "  read  '  Tvrbvlnerae.'  " 

"  I  understand  no  better." 

"  Listen  to  me  attentively.  Three  miles  from 
here  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  is  a  village  called 
Boulternere.  The  name  is  a  corruption  of  the 
Latin  word  *  Tvrbvlnera.'  Nothing  is  more  com- 
mon than  these  transpositions.  Boulternere  was 
a  Roman  town.  I  always  suspected  it,  but  I 
could  get  no  proof  till  now,  and  here  it  is.  This 
Venus  was  the  local  goddess  of  the  city  of  Boul- 
ternere;  and  the  word  Boulternere,  which  I  have 
shown  is  of  ancient  origin,  proves  something  very 
curious,  namely,  that  Boulternere  was  a  Phoeni- 
cian town  before  it  was  Roman  !  " 

He  paused  a  moment  to  take  breath  and  en- 
joy my  surprise.  I  succeeded  in  overcoming  a 
strong  inclination  to  laugh. 

"  '  Tvrbvlnera  '  is,  in  fact,  pure  Phoenician,"  he 
continued.  "  '  Tvr,'  pronounce  '  tour  ' — '  Tour  ' 
and  '  Sour '  are  the  same  word,  are  they  not  ? 
'  Sour  '  is  the  Phoenician  name  of  Tyr  ;  I  do  not 
need  to  recall  the  meaning  to  you.  *  Bvl '  is 
Baal ;  Bal,  Bel,  Bui,  are  slight  differences  of  pro- 
nunciation. As  to  ;Nera,'  that  troubles  me  a 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  169 

little.  I  am  tempted  to  believe,  for  want  of  a 
Phoenician  word,  that  it  comes  from  the  Greek 
v7?/?o?,  moist,  marshy.  In  that  case,  it  is  a  mon- 
grel word.  To  justify  vypos  I  will  show  you  at 
Boulternere  how  the  mountain  streams  form 
stagnant  pools.  Then,  again,  the  ending  *  Nera  ' 
may  have  been  added  much  later  in  honor  of 
Nera  Pivesuvia,  wife  of  Tetricus,  who  may  have 
benefited  the  city  of  Turbul.  But  on  account  of 
the  marshes,  I  prefer  the  etymology  of  vypos." 

He  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  a  complacent  way, 
and  continued : 

"  But  let  us  leave  the  Phoenicians  and  return 
to  the  inscription.  I  translate  it  then  :  To  Venus 
of  Boulternere  Myron  dedicates  by  her  order  this 
statue,  his  work." 

I  took  good  care  not  to  criticise  his  etymology, 
but  I  wished  in  my  turn  to  give  a  proof  of  pene- 
tration, so  I  said  : 

"  Stop  a  moment,  M.  de  Peyrehorade.  Myron 
has  dedicated  something,  but  I  by  no  means  see 
that  it  is  this  statue." 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  "  was  not  Myron  a  famous 
Greek  sculptor  ?  The  talent  was  perpetuated  in 
his  family,  and  it  must  have  been  one  of  his 
descendants  who  executed  this  statue.  Nothing 
can  be  more  certain." 

"  But,"  I  replied,  "  on  this  arm  I  see  a  small 
hole.  I  think  it  served  to  fasten  something — a 
bracelet,  for  example — which  this  Myron,  being 


17°  THE  VENUS   OF   ILLE. 

an  unhappy  lover,  gave  to  Venus  as  an  expiatory 
offering.  Venus  was  irritated  against  him;  he 
appeased  her  by  consecrating  to  her  a  gold 
bracelet.  Notice  that/eat  is  often  used  for  con- 
seer  avit.  The  terms  are  synonymous.  I  could 
show  you  more  than  one  example  if  I  had  at 
hand  Gruter  or  Orellius.  It  is  natural  that  a 
lover  should  see  Venus  in  a  dream  and  imagine 
that  she  commands  him  to  give  a  gold  bracelet 
to  her  statue.  Myron  consecrated  the  bracelet 
to  her.  Then  the  barbarians  or  some  other 
sacrilegious  thieves — " 

"  Ah  !  it  is  easy  to  see  you  have  written  ro- 
mances !  "  cried  my  host,  helping  me  down  from 
the  pedestal.  "  No,  sir;  it  is  a  work  of  Myron's 
school.  You  have  only  to  look  at  the  workman- 
ship to  be  convinced  of  that." 

Having  made  it  a  rule  never  to  contradict  self- 
opinionated  antiquarians,  I  bowed  with  an  air  of 
conviction,  saying : 

"  It  is  an  admirable  piece  of  work." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  M.  dc  Peyre- 
horade,  "  another  act  of  vandalism  !  Some  one 
must  have  thrown  a  stone  at  my  statue !  " 

He  had  just  perceived  a  white  mark  a  little 
above  the  bosom  of  the  Venus.  I  noticed  a 
similar  mark  on  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand.  I 
supposed  it  had  been  touched  by  the  stone  as  it 
passed,  or  that  a  bit  of  the  stone  had  been  broken 
off  as  it  struck  the  statue,  and  had  rebounded  on 


THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE.  1 71 

the  hand.  I  told  my  host  of  the  insult  I  had 
witnessed,  and  the  prompt  punishment  which 
had  followed  it. 

He  laughed  heartily,  and,  comparing  the  ap- 
prentice to  Diomede,  wished  he  might,  like  the 
Greek  hero,  see  all  his  comrades  turned  into 
white  birds. 

The  breakfast  bell  interrupted  this  classical 
conversation,  and,  as  on  the  preceding  evening, 
I  was  obliged  to  eat  enough  for  four.  Then 
came  M.  de  Peyrehorade's  farmers,  and,  while 
he  was  giving  them  an  audience,  his  son  led  me 
to  inspect  an  open  carriage,  which  he  had  bought 
at  Toulouse  for  his  betrothed,  and  which  it  is 
needless  to  say  I  duly  admired.  After  that  I 
went  into  the  stable  with  him,  where  he  kept  me 
a  half-hour,  boasting  about  his  horses,  giving 
me  their  genealogy,  and  telling  me  of  the  prizes 
they  had  won  at  the  county  races.  At  last  he 
began  to  talk  to  me  about  his  betrothed  in  con- 
nection with  a  gray  mare  which  he  intended  for 
her. 

"We  will  see  her  to-day,"  he  said.  "I  do 
not  know  if  you  will  find  her  pretty.  In  Paris 
people  are  hard  to  please.  But  every  one  here 
and  in  Perpignan  thinks  her  lovely.  The  best 
of  it  is  that  she  is  very  rich.  Her  aunt  from 
Prades  left  her  a  fortune.  Oh  !  I  shall  be  very 
happy." 

I  was  profoundly  shocked  to  see  a  young  man 


172  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

appear  more  affected  by  the  dower  than  by  the 
beauty  of  his  bride. 

"You  are  a  judge  of  jewels,"  continued  M. 
Alphonse  ;  "what  do  you  think  of  this  ?  Here 
is  the  ring  I  shall  give  her  to-morrow." 

He  drew  from  his  little  finger  a  heavy  ring, 
enriched  with  diamonds,  and  fashioned  into  two 
clasped  hands,  an  allusion  which  seemed  to  me 
infinitely  poetic.  The  workmanship  was  antique, 
but  I  fancied  it  had  been  retouched  to  insert  the 
diamonds.  Inside  the  ring  these  words  in  Gothic 
characters  could  be  discerned :  SemprJ  ab  ti, 
which  means,  thine  for  ever. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  ring,"  I  said,  "  but  the  diamonds 
which  have  been  added  have  made  it  lose  a  little 
of  its  style." 

"Oh!  it  is  much  handsomer  now,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling.  "There  are  twelve  hundred 
francs'  worth  of  diamonds  in  it.  My  mother 
gave  it  to  me.  It  is  a  very  old  family  ring, — it 
dates  from  the  days  of  chivalry.  It  was  my 
grandmother's,  who  had  it  from  her  grandmother. 
Heaven  knows  when  it  was  made." 

"  The  custom  in  Paris,"  I  said,  "  is  to  give  a 
perfectly  plain  ring,  usually  composed  of  two  dif- 
ferent metals,  such  as  gold  and  platina.  The 
other  ring  which  you  have  on  would  be  very  suit- 
able. This  one  with  its  diamonds  and  its  clasped 
hands  is  so  thick  that  it  would  be  impossible  to 
wear  a  glove  over  it." 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  173 

"  Madame  Alphonse  must  arrange  that  as  she 
pleases.  I  think  she  will  be  very  glad  to  have 
it  all  the  same.  Twelve  hundred  francs  on  the 
finger  is  pleasant.  That  other  little  ring,"  he 
added,  looking  in  a  contented  way  at  the  plain 
ring  he  wore,  "  that  one  a  woman  in  Paris  gave 
me  on  Shrove  Tuesday.  How  I  did  enjoy  my- 
self when  I  was  in  Paris  two  years  ago  !  That 
is  the  place  to  have  a  good  time  !  "  and  he  sighed 
regretfully. 

We  were  to  dine  that  day  at  Puygarrig  with 
the  relations  of  the  bride ;  so  we  got  into  the  car- 
riage, and  drove  to  the  chateau,  which  was  four 
or  five  miles  from  Ille.  I  was  presented  and  re- 
ceived as  the  friend  of  the  family.  I  will  not 
speak  of  the  dinner,  or  the  conversation  which 
followed.  I  took  but  little  part  in  it.  M.  Al- 
phonse was  seated  beside  his  betrothed,  and 
whispered  a  word  or  two  in  her  ear  now  and 
then.  As  for  her,  she  hardly  raised  her  eyes; 
and  every  time  her  lover  spoke  to  her  she 
blushed  modestly,  but  answered  without  embar- 
rassment. 

Mademoiselle  de  Puygarrig  was  eighteen  years 
of  age.  Her  slender,  graceful  figure  formed  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  stalwart  frame  of  her 
future  husband.  She  was  not  only  beautiful,  she 
was  alluring.  I  admired  the  perfect  naturalness 
of  all  her  replies.  Her  kind  look,  which  yet  was 
not  free  from  a  touch  of  malice,  reminded  me,  in 


174  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

spite  of  myself,  of  my  host's  Venus.  While  mak- 
ing this  inward  comparison,  I  asked  myself  if  the 
incontestably  superior  beauty  of  the  statue  did 
not  in  great  measure  come  from  its  tigress-like 
expression  ;  for  strength,  even  in  evil  passions, 
always  arouses  in  us  astonishment,  and  a  sort  of 
involuntary  admiration. 

"  What  a  pity,"  I  thought,  on  leaving  Puy- 
garrig,  "that  such  an  attractive  girl  should  be 
rich,  and  that  her  dowry  makes  her  sought  by  a 
man  quite  unworthy  of  her." 

While  returning  to  Ille,  I  spoke  to  Mme.  de 
Peyrehorade,  to  whom  I  thought  it  only  proper 
to  address  myself  now  and  then,  though  I  did 
not  very  well  know  what  to  say  to  her  :  "  You 
must  be  strong-minded  people  in  Roussillon,"  I 
said.  "  How  is  it,  madam,  that  you  have  a  wed- 
ding on  a  Friday  ?  We  would  be  more  supersti- 
tious in  Paris  ;  no  one  would  dare  be  married  on 
that  day." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  she  replied  :  "  if  it  had 
depended  on  me,  certainly  another  day  would 
have  been  chosen.  But  Peyrehorade  wished  it, 
and  I  had  to  give  in.  All  the  same,  it  troubles 
me  very  much.  Supposing  an  accident  should 
happen  ?  There  must  be  some  reason  in  it,  or 
else  why  is  every  one  afraid  of  Friday  ? " 

"  Friday  !  "  cried  her  husband,  "  is  Venus's 
day !  Just  the  day  for  a  wedding !  You  see, 
my  dear  colleague,  I  think  only  of  my  Venus. 


THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE.  175 

I  chose  Friday  on  her  account.  To-morrow,  if 
you  like,  before  the  wedding,  we  will  make  a 
little  sacrifice  to  her — a  sacrifice  of  two  doves 
— and  if  I  only  knew  where  to  get  some  in- 
cense— " 

"  For  shame,  Peyrehorade  !  "  interrupted  his 
wife,  scandalized  to  the  last  degree.  "  Incense 
to  an  idol  !  It  would  be  an  abomination ! 
What  would  they  say  of  us  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ? " 

"  At  least,"  answered  M.  de  Peyrehorade, 
"  you  will  allow  me  to  place  a  wreath  of  roses 
and  lilies  on  her  head  :  Manibus  date  liliaplenis. 
You  see,  sir,  freedom  is  an  empty  word.  We 
have  not  liberty  of  worship  !  " 

The  next  day's  arrangements  were  ordered  in 
the  following  manner :  Every  one  was  to  be 
dressed  and  ready  at  ten  o'clock  punctually. 
After  the  chocolate  had  been  served  we  were  to 
be  driven  to  Puygarrig.  The  civil  marriage  was 
to  take  place  in  the  town-hall  of  the  village,  and 
the  religious  ceremony  in  the  chapel  of  the 
chateau.  Afterwards  there  would  be  a  break- 
fast. After  the  breakfast  people  would  pass  the 
time  as  they  liked  until  seven  o'clock.  At  that 
hour  every  one  would  return  to  M.  de  Peyreho- 
rade's  at  Ille,  where  the  two  families  were  to 
assemble  and  have  supper.  It  was  natural  that 
being  unable  to  dance  they  should  wish  to  eat  as 
much  as  possible. 


176  THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE. 

By  eight  o'clock  I  was  seated  in  front  of  the 
Venus,  pencil  in  hand,  recommencing  the  head 
of  the  statue  for  the  twentieth  time  without 
being  able  to  catch  the  expression.  M.  de  Pey- 
rehorade  came  and  went  about  me,  giving  me 
advice,  repeating  his  Phoenician  etymology,  and 
laying  Bengal  roses  on  the  pedestal  of  the  statue 
while  he  addressed  vows  to  it  in  a  tragi-comic 
tone  for  the  young  couple  who  were  to  live  under 
his  roof.  Towards  nine  o'clock  he  went  in  to 
put  on  his  best,  and  at  the  same  moment  M. 
Alphonse  appeared  looking  very  stiff  in  a  new 
coat,  white  gloves,  chased  sleeve-buttons,  and 
varnished  shoes.  A  rose  decorated  his  button- 
hole. 

"  Will  you  make  my  wife's  portrait  ?  "  he 
asked,  leaning  over  my  drawing.  "  She  also  is 
pretty." 

On  the  racquet-court  of  which  I  have  spoken 
there  now  began  a  game  which  immediately  at- 
tracted M.  Alphonse's  attention.  And  I,  tired, 
and  despairing  of  ever  being  able  to  copy  the 
diabolical  face,  soon  left  my  drawing  to  look  at 
the  players.  There  were  among  them  some 
Spanish  muleteers  who  had  arrived  the  night  be- 
fore. They  were  from  Aragon  and  Navarre,  and 
were  nearly  all  marvellously  skilful  at  the  game. 
Therefore  the  Illois,  though  encouraged  by  the 
presence  and  advice  of  M.  Alphonse,  were 
promptly  beaten  by  the  foreign  champions.  The 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  177 

native  spectators  were  disheartened.  M.  Al- 
phonse  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  half- 
past  nine.  His  mother's  hair  he  knew  was  not 
dressed.  He  hesitated  no  longer,  but  taking  oft 
his  coat  asked  for  a  jacket,  and  defied  the  Span- 
iards. I  looked  on  smiling  and  a  little  surprised. 
"  The  honor  of  the  country  must  be  sustained," 
he  said. 

Then  I  thought  him  really  handsome.  He 
seemed  full  of  life,  and  his  costume,  which  but 
now  occupied  him  so  entirely,  no  longer  con- 
cerned him.  A  few  minutes  before  he  would 
have  dreaded  to  turn  his  head  for  fear  of  disar- 
ranging his  cravat.  Now  he  did  not  give  a 
thought  to  his  curled  hair  or  his  fine  shirt-front. 
And  his  betrothed  ?  If  it  had  been  necessary  I 
think  he  would  have  postponed  the  wedding.  I 
saw  him  hurriedly  put  on  a  pair  of  sandals,  roll 
up  his  sleeves,  and,  with  an  assured  air,  take  his 
stand  at  the  head  of  the  vanquished  party  like 
Caesar  rallying  his  soldiers  at  Dyrrachium.  I 
leaped  the  hedge  and  placed  myself  comfortably 
in  the  shade  of  a  tree  so  as  to  command  a  good 
view  of  both  sides. 

Contrary  to  general  expectation,  M.  Alphonse 
missed  the  first  ball.  It  came  skimming  along 
the  ground,  it  is  true,  and  was  thrown  with  as- 
tonishing force  by  an  Aragonese  who  appeared 
to  be  the  leader  of  the  Spaniards. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  nervous  and 

12 


178  THE   VENUS    OF   ILLE. 

agile,  and  at  least  six  feet  tall.  His  olive  skin 
was  almost  as  dark  as  the  bronze  of  the  Venus. 

M.  Alphonse  threw  his  racquet  angrily  on  the 
ground. 

"  It  is  this  cursed  ring,"  he  cried,  "  which 
squeezes  my  finger,  and  makes  me  miss  a  sure 
ball." 

He  drew  off  his  diamond  ring  with  some  dif- 
ficulty; I  approached  to  take  it,  but  he  fore- 
stalled me  by  running  to  the  Venus  and  shoving 
it  on  her  fourth  finger.  He  then  resumed  his 
post  at  the  head  of  the  Illois. 

He  was  pale,  but  calm  and  resolute.  From 
that  moment  he  did  not  miss  a  single  ball,  and 
the  Spaniards  were  completely  beaten.  The  en- 
thusiasm of  the  spectators  was  a  fine  sight ;  some 
threw  their  caps  in  the  air  and  shouted  for  joy, 
while  others  wrung  M.  Alphonse's  hands,  calling 
him  the  honor  of  the  country.  If  he  had  re- 
pulsed an  invasion  I  doubt  if  he  would  have 
received  warmer  or  sincerer  congratulations. 
The  vexation  of  the  vanquished  added  to  the 
splendor  of  the  victory. 

"  We  will  play  other  games,  my  good  fellow," 
he  said  to  the  Aragonese  in  a  tone  of  superiority, 
"but  I  will  give  you  points." 

I  should  have  wished  M.  Alphonse  to  be  more 
modest,  and  I  was  almost  pained  by  his  rival's 
humiliation. 

The  Spanish  giant  felt  the  insult  deeply.     I 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  179 

saw  him  pale  beneath  his  tan.  He  looked  sul- 
lenly at  his  racquet  and  clinched  his  teeth,  then 
in  a  smothered  voice  he  muttered : 

"  Me  lo  pagards" 

M.  de  Peyrehorade's  voice  interrupted  his 
son's  triumph.  Astonished  at  not  finding  him 
presiding  over  the  preparation  of  the  new  car- 
riage, my  host  was  even  more  surprised  on 
seeing  him  racquet  in  hand  and  bathed  in  per- 
spiration. M.  Alphonse  hurried  to  the  house, 
washed  his  hands  and  face,  put  on  again  his 
new  coat  and  patent-leather  shoes,  and  in  five 
minutes  we  were  galloping  on  the  road  to  Puy- 
garrig.  All  the  racquet  players  of  the  town  and 
a  crowd  of  spectators  followed  us  with  shouts  of 
joy.  The  strong  horses  which  drew  us  could 
hardly  keep  ahead  of  the  intrepid  Catalans. 

We  were  at  Puygarrig,  and  the  procession 
was  about  to  set  out  for  the  town-hall,  when 
M.  Alphonse,  striking  his  forehead,  whispered 
to  me : 

"  What  a  mess  !  I  have  forgotten  the  ring  ! 
It  is  on  the  finger  of  the  Venus ;  may  the  devil 
carry  her  off !  Do  not  tell  rny  mother  at  any 
rate.  Perhaps  she  will  not  notice  it." 

"  You  can  send  some  one  for  it,"  I  replied. 

"  My  servant  remained  at  Ille.  I  do  not  trust 
these  here.  Twelve  hundred  francs'  worth  of 
diamonds  might  well  tempt  almost  any  one. 
Moreover,  what  would  they  think  of  my  forget- 


l8o  THE   VENUS    OF   ILLE. 

fulness  ?  They  would  laugh  at  me.  They  would 
call  me  the  husband  of  the  statue.  If  it  only  is 
not  stolen !  Fortunately,  the  rascals  are  afraid 
of  the  idol.  They  do  not  dare  approach  it  by  an 
arm's  length.  After  all,  it  does  not  matter ;  I 
have  another  ring." 

The  two  ceremonies,  civil  and  religious,  were 
accomplished  with  suitable  pomp,  and  Made- 
moiselle de  Puygarrig  received  the  ring  of  a 
Parisian  milliner  without  suspecting  that  her 
betrothed  was  making  her  the  sacrifice  of  a  love- 
token.  Then  we  seated  ourselves  at  table,  where 
we  ate,  drank,  and  even  sang,  all  at  great  length. 
I  suffered  for  the  bride  at  the  coarse  merriment 
which  exploded  around  her ;  still,  she  faced  it 
better  than  I  would  have  expected,  and  her  em- 
barrassment was  neither  awkward  nor  affected. 

Perhaps  courage  comes  with  difficult  situa- 
tions. 

The  breakfast  ended  when  heaven  pleased. 
It  was  four  o'clock.  The  men  went  to  walk  in 
the  park,  which  was  magnificent,  or  watched  the 
peasants,  in  their  holiday  attire,  dance  on  the 
lawn  of  the  chateau.  In  this  way  we  passed 
several  hours.  Meanwhile  the  women  were 
eagerly  attentive  to  the  bride,  who  showed  them 
her  presents.  Then  she  changed  her  dress,  and 
I  noticed  that  she  had  covered  her  beautiful  hair 
with  a  befeathered  bonnet ;  for  women  are  in  no 
greater  hurry  than  to  assume,  as  soon  as  pos- 


THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE.  l8l 

sible,  the  attire  which  custom  forbids  their  wear- 
ing while  they  are  still  young  girls. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  preparations 
were  made  to  start  for  Ille.  But  first  a  pathetic- 
scene  took  place.  Mile,  de  Puygarrig's  aunt,  a 
very  old  and  pious  woman,  who  stood  to  her  in  a 
mother's  place,  was  not  to  go  with  us.  Before 
the  departure  she  gave  her  niece  a  touching  ser 
mon  on  her  wifely  duties,  from  which  sermon  re- 
sulted a  flood  of  tears  and  endless  embraces. 

M.  de  Peyrehorade  compared  this  separation 
to  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines. 

At  last,  however,  we  got  off,  and,  on  the  way, 
every  one  exerted  himself  to  amuse  the  bride  and 
make  her  laugh ;  but  all  in  vain. 

At  Ille  supper  awaited  us,  and  what  a  supper ! 
If  the  coarse  jokes  of  the  morning  had  shocked 
me,  I  was  now  much  more  so  by  the  equivoca- 
tions and  pleasantries  of  which  the  bride  and 
groom  were  the  principal  objects.  The  bride- 
groom, who  had  disappeared  for  a  moment  be- 
fore seating  himself  at  the  table,  was  pale,  cold, 
and  grave. 

He  drank  incessantly  some  old  Collioure  wine 
almost  as  strong  as  brandy.  I  sat  next  to  him, 
and  thought  myself  obliged  to  warn  him.  "  Be 
careful  !  they  say  that  wine  " — I  hardly  know 
what  stupid  nonsense  I  said  to  be  in  harmony 
with  the  other  guests. 

He  touched  my  knee,  and  whispered : 


1 82  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

"  When  we  have  left  the  table  ...  let  me  have 
two  words  with  you." 

His  solemn  tone  surprised  me.  I  looked  more 
'closely  at  him,  and  noticed  a  strange  alteration  in 
his  features. 

"  Do  you  feel  ill  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No." 

And  he  began  to  drink  again. 

Meanwhile,  amidst  much  shouting  and  clap- 
ping of  hands,  a  child  of  twelve,  who  had  slipped 
under  the  table,  held  up  to  the  company  a  pretty 
pink  and  white  ribbon  which  he  had  untied  from 
the  bride's  ankle.  It  was  called  her  garter,  and 
at  once  cut  into  pieces  and  distributed  among  the 
young  men,  who,  following  an  old  custom  still  pre- 
served in  some  patriarchal  families,  ornamented 
their  buttonholes  with  it.  This  was  the  time 
for  the  bride  to  flush  up  to  the  whites  of  her  eyes. 
But  her  confusion  was  at  its  height  when  M.  de 
Peyrehorade,  having  called  for  silence,  sang 
several  verses  in  Catalan,  which  he  said  were  im- 
promptu. Here  is  the  meaning,  if  I  understood 
it  correctly  : 

"  What  is  this,  my  friends  ?  has  the  wine  I  have 
drunk  made  me  see  double  ?  There  are  two 
Venuses  here  .  .  ." 

The  bridegroom  turned  his  head  suddenly  with 
a  frightened  look,  which  made  every  one  laugh. 

"  Yes, "  continued  M.  de  Peyrehorade,  "  there 
are  two  Venuses  under  my  roof.  The  one  I 


THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE.  183 

found  in  the  ground  like  a  truffle  ;  the  other, 
descended  from  heaven,  has  just  divided  among 
us  her  belt." 

He  meant  her  garter. 

"  My  son,  choose  between  the  Roman  Venus 
and  the  Catalan  the  one  you  prefer.  The  rascal 
takes  the  Catalan,  and  his  choice  is  the  best. 
The  Roman  is  black,  the  Catalan  is  white.  The 
Roman  is  cold,  the  Catalan  enflames  all  who 
approach  her." 

This  equivocal  allusion  excited  such  a  shout, 
such  noisy  applause,  and  sonorous  laughter,  that 
I  thought  the  ceiling  would  fall  on  our  heads. 
Around  the  table  there  were  but  three  serious 
faces,  those  of  the  newly-married  couple  and 
mine.  I  had  a  terrible  headache  ;  and  besides,  I 
do  not  know  why,  a  wedding  always  saddens  me. 
This  one,  moreover,  even  disgusted  me  a  little. 

The  final  verses  having  been  sung, — and  very 
lively  they  were,  I  must  say, — every  one  adjourned 
to  the  drawing-room  to  enjoy  the  withdrawal  of 
the  bride,  who,  as  it  was  nearly  midnight,  was  soon 
to  be  conducted  to  her  room. 

M.  Alphonse  drew  me  into  the  embrasure  of  a 
window,  and,  turning  away  his  eyes,  said  : 

"  You  will  laugh  at  me —  But  I  don't 
know  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ...  I  am 
bewitched  ! " 

My  first  thought  was  that  he  fancied  himself 
threatened  with  one  of  those  misfortunes  of 


184  THE   VENUS   OF   ILLE. 

which  Montaigne  and  Madame  de  Se'vigne' 
speak. 

"  All  the  world  of  love  is  full  of  tragic  his- 
tories," etc. 

"  I  thought  only  clever  people  were  subject  to 
this  sort  of  accident,"  I  said  to  myself. 

To  him  I  said :  "  You  drank  too  much  Col- 
lioure  wine,  my  dear  Monsieur  Alphonse ;  I 
warned  you  against  it." 

"Yes,  perhaps.  But  something  much  more 
terrible  than  that  has  happened." 

His  voice  was  broken.  I  thought  him  com- 
pletely inebriated. 

"  You  know  about  my  ring  ? "  he  continued, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  has  it  been  stolen  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  you  have  it  ?  " 

"  No — I — I  cannot  get  it  off  the  finger  of  that 
infernal  Venus." 

"  You  did  not  pull  hard  enough." 

"Yes,  indeed  I  did—  But  the  Venus—she 
has  bent  her  finger." 

He  stared  at  me  wildly,  and  leaned  against  the 
window-sash  to  prevent  himself  from  falling. 

"What  nonsense  !  "  I  said.  "  You  pushed  the 
ring  on  too  far.  You  can  get  it  off  to-morrow 
with  pincers.  But  be  careful  not  to  damage  the 
statue." 

"  No,  I  tell  you.    The  Venus's  finger  is  crooked, 


THE   VENUS    OF   ILLE.  185 

bent  under ;  she  clinches  her  hand,  do  you  hear 
me  ?  ...  She  is  my  wife  apparently,  since  I  have 
given  her  my  ring.  .  .  .  She  will  not  return  it." 

I  shivered,  and,  for  a  moment,  I  was  all  goose- 
flesh.  Then  a  great  sigh  from  him  brought  me  a 
whiff  of  wine,  and  all  my  emotion  disappeared. 

The  wretch,  I  thought,  is  dead  drunk. 

"  You  are  an  antiquarian,  sir,"  added  the  bride- 
groom, in  a  mournful  tone  ;  "  you  understand 
those  statues;  there  is,  perhaps,  some  hidden 
spring,  some  deviltry  which  I  do  not  know  about. 
Will  you  go  and  see  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  I  replied.     "  Come  with  me." 

"  No,  I  would  prefer  to  have  you  go  alone." 

I  left  the  drawing-room. 

The  weather  had  changed  during  supper,  and 
a  heavy  rain  had  begun  to  fall.  I  was  about  to 
ask  for  an  umbrella,  when  a  sudden  thought 
stopped  me.  I  should  be  a  great  fool,  I  re- 
flected, to  go  and  verify  what  had  been  told  me 
by  a  drunken  man  !  Besides,  he  may  have  wished 
to  play  some  silly  trick  on  me  to  give  cause  for 
laughter  to  the  honest  country  people ;  and  the 
least  that  can  happen  to  me  from  it  is  to  be 
drenched  to  the  bone  and  catch  a  bad  cold. 

From  the  door  I  cast  a  glance  at  the  statue 
running  with  water,  and  I  went  up  to  my  room 
without  returning  to  the  drawing-room.  I  went 
to  bed  ;  but  sleep  was  long  in  coming.  All  the 
scenes  of  the  day  passed  through  my  mind.  I 


1 86  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

thought  of  the  young  girl,  so  pure  and  lovely, 
abandoned  to  a  drunken  brute.  What  an  odious 
thing  a  marriage  of  convenience  is  !  A  mayor 
dons  a  tri-colored  scarf,  a  priest  a  stole,  and  then 
the  most  virtuous  girl  in  the  world  is  delivered 
over  to  the  Minotaur  !  What  can  two  people  who 
do  not  love  each  other  find  to  say  at  a  moment, 
which  two  lovers  would  buy  at  the  price  of  their 
lives  ?  Can  a  woman  ever  love  a  man  whom  she 
has  once  seen  coarse  ?  First  impressions  are 
never  effaced,  and  I  am  sure  M.  Alphonse  will 
deserve  to  be  hated. 

During  my  monologue,  which  I  abridge  very 
much,  I  had  heard  a  great  deal  of  coming  and 
going  in  the  house.  Doors  opened  and  shut,  and 
carnages  drove  away.  Then  I  seemed  to  hear 
on  the  stairs  the  light  steps  of  a  number  of  wo- 
men going  towards  the  end  of  the  hall  opposite 
my  room.  It  was  probably  the  bride's  train  of 
attendants  leading  her  to  bed.  After  that  they 
went  downstairs  again.  Madame  de  Peyreho- 
rade's  door  closed.  How  troubled  and  ill  at 
ease  that  poor  girl  must  be,  I  thought.  I  tossed 
about  in  my  bed  with  bad  temper.  A  bachelor 
plays  a  stupid  part  in  a  house  where  a  marriage 
is  accomplished. 

Silence  had  reigned  for  some  time  when  it  was 
disturbed  by  a  heavy  tread  mounting  the  stairs. 
The  wooden  steps  creaked  loudly. 

"What   a  clown!"    I   cried   to   myself.     "I 


THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE.  187 

wager  that  he  will  fall  on  the  stairs."  All  was 
quiet  again.  I  took  up  a  book  to  change  the 
current  of  my  thoughts.  It  was  the  county  sta- 
tistics, supplemented  with  an  address  by  M.  de 
Peyrehorade  on  the  Druidical  remains  of  the 
district  of  Prades.  I  grew  drowsy  at  the  third 
page.  I  slept  badly,  and  awoke  repeatedly.  It 
might  have  been  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
I  had  been  awake  more  than  twenty  minutes, 
when  the  cock  crew.  Day  was  about  to  dawn. 
Then  I  heard  distinctly  the  same  heavy  footsteps, 
the  same  creaking  of  the  stairs  which  I  had  heard 
before  I  fell  asleep.  I  thought  it  strange.  Yawn- 
ing, I  tried  to  guess  why  M.  Alphonse  got  up  so 
early.  I  could  imagine  no  likely  reason.  I  was 
about  to  close  my  eyes  again  when  my  attention 
was  freshly  excited  by  a  singular  trampling  of 
feet,  which  was  soon  intermingled  with  the  ring- 
ing of  bells  and  the  sound  of  doors  opened 
noisily ;  then  I  distinguished  confused  cries. 

"  My  drunkard  has  set  something  on  fire,"  I 
,thought,  jumping  out  of  bed.  I  dressed  quickly 
and  went  into  the  hall.  From  the  opposite  end 
came  cries  and  lamentations,  and  a  heartrending 
voice  dominated  all  the  others :  "  My  son  !  my 
son  !  "  It  was  evident  that  an  accident  had 
happened  to  M.  Alphonse.  I  ran  to  the  bridal 
apartment :  it  was  full  of  people.  The  first  sight 
which  struck  my  gaze  was  the  young  man  partly 
dressed  and  stretched  across  the  bed,  the  wood- 


1 88  THE   VENUS    OF  *ILLE. 

work  of  which  was  broken.  He  was  livid  ana 
motionless.  His  mother  sobbed  and  wept  be- 
side him.  M.  de  Peyrehorade  moved  about  fran- 
tically ;  he  rubbed  his  son's  temples  with  cologne 
water,  or  held  salts  to  his  nose.  Alas  !  his  son 
had  long  been  dead.  On  a  sofa  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room  lay  the  bride,  a  prey  to  dreadful  con- 
vulsions. She  was  making  inarticulate  cries,  and 
two  robust  maid-servants  had  all  the  trouble  in 
the  world  to  hold  her  down.  "  Good  heavens !  " 
I  exclaimed,  "  what  has  happened  ?  " 

I  approached  the  bed  and  raised  the  body  of 
the  unfortunate  young  man  :  it  was  already  stiff 
and  cold.  His  clinched  teeth  and  black  face  ex- 
pressed the  most  fearful  anguish.  It  was  evident 
enough  that  his  death  had  been  violent  and  his 
agony  terrible. 

Nevertheless,  no  sign  of  blood  was  on  his 
clothes.  I  opened  his  shirt,  and  on  his  chest  I 
found  a  livid  mark  which  extended  around  the 
ribs  to  the  back.  One  would  have  said  he  had 
been  squeezed  in  an  iron  ring.  My  foot  touched 
something  hard  on  the  carpet ;  I  stooped  and 
saw  it  was  the  diamond  ring.  I  dragged  M.  de 
Peyrehorade  and  his  wife  into  their  room,  and 
had  the  bride  carried  there. 

"  You  still  have  a  daughter,"  I  said  to  them. 
"  You  owe  her  your  care."  Then  I  left  them 
alone. 

To  me  it  did  not  seem  to  admit  of   a  doubt 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  189 

that  M.  Alphonse  had  been  the  victim  of  a 
murder  whose  authors  had  discovered  a  way  to 
introduce  themselves  into  the  bride's  room  during 
the  night.  The  bruises  on  the  chest  and  their 
circular  direction,  however,  perplexed  me,  for 
they  could  not  have  been  made  either  by  a  club, 
or  an  iron  bar.  Suddenly  I  remembered  having 
heard  that  at  Valencia  bravi  used  long  leather 
bags  filled  with  sand  to  stun  people  whom  they 
had  been  paid  to  kill.  Immediately  I  thought  of 
the  Aragonese  muleteer  and  his  threat.  Yet  I 
hardly  dared  suppose  he  would  have  taken  such 
a  terrible  revenge  for  a  trifling  jest. 

I  went  through  the  house  seeking  everywhere 
for  traces  of  housebreaking,  but  could  find  none. 
I  descended  to  the  garden  to  see  if  the  assassins 
could  have  made  their  entrance  from  there  ;  but 
there  were  no  conclusive  signs  of  it.  In  any 
case,  the  evening's  rain  had  so  softened  the 
ground  that  it  could  not  have  retained  any  very 
clear  impress.  Nevertheless,  I  noticed  some 
deeply  marked  footprints ;  they  ran  in  two  con- 
trary directions,  but  on  the  same  path.  They 
started  from  the  corner  of  the  hedge  next  the 
racquet-court  and  ended  at  the  door  of  the  house. 
They  might  have  been  made  by  M.  Alphonse 
when  he  went  to  get  his  ring  from  the  finger  of 
the  statue.  Then  again,  the  hedge  at  this  spot 
was  narrower  than  elsewhere,  and  it  must  have 
been  here  that  the  murderers  got  over  it.  Pass- 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

ing  and  repassing  before  the  statue,  I  stopped 
a  moment  to  consider  it.  This  time,  I  must  con- 
fess, I  could  not  contemplate  its  expression  of 
vicious  irony  without  fear;  and  my  mind  being 
filled  with  the  horrible  scene  I  had  just  witnessed, 
I  seemed  to  see  in  it  a  demoniacal  goddess  ap- 
plauding the  sorrow  fallen  on  the  house. 

I  returned  to  my  room  and  stayed  there  till 
noon.  Then  I  left  it  to  ask  news  of  my  hosts. 
They  were  a  little  calmer.  Mile,  de  Puygarrig, 
or  I  should  say  the  widow  of  M.  Alphonse,  had 
regained  consciousness.  She  had  even  spoken 
to  the  procureur  du  roi  from  Perpignan,  then  in 
circuit  at  Ille,  and  this  magistrate  had  received 
her  deposition.  He  asked  for  mine.  I  told  him 
what  I  knew,  and  did  not  hide  from  him  my  sus- 
picions about  the  Aragonese  muleteer.  He  or- 
dered him  to  be  arrested  on  the  spot. 

"  Have  you  learned  anything  from  Mme. 
Alphonse?"  I  asked  \htprocureur  du  roi,  when 
my  deposition  was  written  and  signed. 

"  That  unfortunate  young  woman  has  gone 
crazy,"  he  said,  smiling  sadly.  "  Crazy,  quite 
crazy.  This  is  what  she  says  : 

"  She  had  been  in  bed  for  several  minutes  with 
the  curtains  drawn,  when  the  door  of  her  room 
opened  and  some  one  entered.  Mme.  Alphonse 
was  on  the  inside  of  the  bed  with  her  face  turned 
to  the  wall.  Assured  that  it  was  her  husband 
she  did  not  move.  Presently  the  bed  creaked  as 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 


if  laden  with  a  tremendous  weight.  She  was  ter- 
ribly frightened,  but  dared  not  turn  her  head. 
Five  minutes,  or  ten  minutes  perhaps  —  she  has 
no  idea  of  the  time  —  passed  in  this  way.  Then 
she  made  an  involuntary  movement,  or  else  it  was 
the  other  person  who  made  one,  and  she  felt  the 
contact  of  something  as  cold  as  ice  :  that  is  her 
expression.  She  buried  herself  against  the  wall 
trembling  in  all  her  limbs. 

"  Shortly  afterwards,  the  door  opened  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  some  one  came  in  who  said, 
'  Good-evening,  my  little  wife.'  Then  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn  back.  She  heard  a  stifled  cry. 
The  person  who  was  in  the  bed  beside  her  sat 
up  apparently  with  extended  arms.  Then  she 
turned  her  head  and  saw  her  husband,  kneeling 
by  the  bed  with  his  head  on  a  level  with  the  pil- 
low, held  close  in  the  arms  of  a  sort  of  greenish- 
colored  giant.  She  says,  and  she  repeated  it  to 
me  twenty  times,  poor  woman  !  —  she  says  that  she 
recognized  —  do  you  guess  whom  ?  —  the  bronze 
Venus,  M.  de  Peyrehorade's  statue.  Since  it  has 
been  here  every  one  dreams  about  it.  But  to 
continue  the  poor  lunatic's  story.  At  this  sight 
she  lost  consciousness,  and  probably  she  had  al- 
ready lost  her  mind.  She  cannot  tell  how  long 
she  remained  in  this  condition.  Returned  to  her 
senses  she  saw  the  phantom,  or  the  statue  as  she 
insists  on  calling  it,  lying  immovable,  the  legs 
and  lower  parts  of  the  body  on  the  bed,  the  bust 


192  THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

and  arms  extended  forward,  and  between  the  arms 
her  husband,  quite  motionless.  A  cock  crew. 
Then  the  statue  left  the  bed,  let  fall  the  body, 
and  went  out.  Mme.  Alphonse  rushed  to  the 
bell,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

The  Spaniard  was  brought  in ;  he  was  calm, 
and  defended  himself  with  much  coolness  and 
presence  of  rnind.  He  did  not  deny  the  remark 
which  I  had  overheard,  but  he  explained  it,  pre- 
tending that  he  did  not  mean  anything  except 
that  the  next  day,  when  rested,  he  would  beat  his 
victor  at  a  game  of  racquets.  I  remember  that 
he  added  : 

"  An  Aragonese  when  insulted  does  not  wait 
till  the  next  day  to  revenge  himself.  If  I  had 
believed  that  M.  Alphonse  wished  to  insult  me  I 
would  have  ripped  him  up  with  my  knife  on  the 
spot." 

His  shoes  were  compared  with  the  footprints 
in  the  garden  ;  the  shoes  were  much  the  larger. 

Finally,  the  innkeeper  with  whom  the  man 
lodged  asserted  that  he  had  spent  the  entire 
night  rubbing  and  dosing  one  of  his  mules  which 
was  sick.  And,  moreover,  the  Aragonese  was  a 
man  of  good  reputation,  well  known  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, where  he  came  every  year  on  business. 

So  he  was  released  with  many  apologies. 

I  have  forgotten  to  mention  the  statement  of 
a  servant  who  was  the  last  person  to  see  M. 
Alphonse  alive.  It  was  just  as  he  was  about  to 


THE    VENUS    OF    ILLE.  193 

join  his  wife,  and  calling  to  this  man  he  asked 
him  in  an  anxious  way  if  he  knew  where  I  was. 
The  servant  answered  that  he  had  not  seen  me. 
M.  Alphonse  sighed,  and  stood  a  minute  without 
speaking,  then  he  said  :  "  Well !  the  devil  must 
have  carried  him  off  also  !  " 

I  asked  the  man  if  M.  Alphonse  had  on  his 
diamond  ring.  The  servant  hesitated  ;  at  last 
he  said  he  thought  not ;  but  for  that  matter  he 
had  not  noticed. 

"  If  the  ring  had  been  on  M.  Alphonse's 
finger,"  he  added,  recovering  himself,  "  I  should 
probably  have  noticed  it,  for  I  thought  he  had 
given  it  to  Mme.  Alphonse." 

When  questioning  the  man  I  felt  a  little  of  the 
superstitious  terror  which  Mme.  Alphonse's  state- 
ment had  spread  through  the  house.  The  pro- 
cureur  du  roi  smiled  at  me,  and  I  was  careful  not 
to  insist  further. 

A  few  hours  after  the  funeral  of  M.  Alphonse 
I  prepared  to  leave  Ille.  M.  de  Peyrehorade's 
carriage  was  to  take  me  to  Perpignan.  Notwith- 
standing his  feeble  condition,  the  poor  old  man 
wished  to  accompany  me  as  far  as  the  garden 
gate.  We  crossed  the  garden  in  silence,  he 
creeping  along  supported  by  my  arm.  As  we 
were  about  to  part  I  threw  a  last  glance  at  the 
Venus.  I  foresaw  that  my  host,  though  he  did 
not  share  the  fear  and  hatred  which  it  inspired 
in  his  family,  would  wish  to  rid  himself  of  an  ob- 


194  THE   VENUS    OF    ILLE. 

ject  which  must  ceaselessly  recall  to  him  a  dread- 
ful misfortune.  My  intention  was  to  induce  him 
to  place  it  in  a  museum.  As  I  hesitated  to  open 
the  subject,  M.  de  Peyrehorade  turned  his  head 
mechanically  in  the  direction  he  saw  I  was  look- 
ing so  fixedly.  He  perceived  the  statue,  and  im- 
mediately melted  into  tears.  I  embraced  him, 
and  got  into  the  carriage  without  daring  to  say  a 
word. 

Since  my  departure  I  have  not  learned  that 
any  new  light  has  been  thrown  on  this  mysteri- 
ous catastrophe. 

M.  de  Peyrehorade  died  several  months  after 
his  son.  In  his  will  he  left  me  his  manuscripts, 
which  I  may  publish  some  day.  I  did  not  find 
among  them  the  article  relative  to  the  inscrip- 
tions on  the  Venus. 

P.  S. — My  friend  M.  de  P.  has  just  written  to 
me  from  Perpignan  that  the  statue  no  longer  ex- 
ists. After  her  husband's  death  Madame  de 
Peyrehorade's  first  care  was  to  have  it  cast  into 
a  bell,  and  in  this  new  shape  it  does  duty  in  the 
church  at  Ille.  "  But,"  adds  M.  de  P.,  "  it  seems 
as  if  bad  luck  pursues  those  who  own  the  bronze. 
Since  the  bell  rings  at  Ille  the  vines  have  twice 
been  frozen." 


I  A    UOtoOO 


